


If I Should Fall Behind

by Lila82



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Babyfic!, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-09 22:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3267482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lila82/pseuds/Lila82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after they land on earth, Clarke and Bellamy expand their family.  Clarke isn’t sure they’ll get a happily ever after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

* * *

 

It starts like any other morning. Sunlight falls through that crack in the roof, painting Bellamy’s skin in molten gold. He keeps meaning to repair it, but then Jasper has questions, or Kane needs something, or Clarke notices that his pants are particularly low-slung that day, and the chore falls to the wayside again. She doesn’t mind. Once, her world was four metal walls and a death sentence breathing down her neck. She’s seen the earth, breathed free air; she can live with a hole in her ceiling.

She teases the curve of Bellamy’s shoulder with one finger, smiles at the contrast: soft skin hiding hard muscle. The man is the same. Try as he might, he can’t help but wear his heart on his sleeve, like when he opens his eyes and smiles at her. Her caress has woken him, but Clarke knows he doesn’t mind. He’ll let her do almost anything if it means her hands on him. 

“Morning,” she says, watches carefully as he blinks the sleep from his eyes. 

They’re clear today, no trace of shadows, and Bellamy grasps her hips to pull her flush against him. “Morning,” he says, tangles his fingers in her hair as he lifts his head to kiss her.

Clarke deepens the kiss, angles her jaw so his tongue slides into her mouth, and captures his groan with her smile. It’s a good morning, the air cool around her and Bellamy hard against her and the sunlight across her back and – the sunlight. It’s the sunlight that breaks through the fog. 

“Bell, what time is it?” Clarke asks and pushes to a sitting position, still straddling his hips.

He blinks a different haze out of his eyes, mouth still rosy and swollen, and reaches for her father’s watch on the nightstand. “It’s…shit,” he curses and Clarke’s eyes slide closed as he confirms the bad news. They have a meeting with the united Woods Clans, and they overslept, and Clarke wouldn’t put it past Indra to stick a spear through them for wasting her time.

“Fuck,” she mutters as she rolls off Bellamy and searches for her clothes. She’s usually well-organized (Bellamy’s cadet training has bled into every aspect of their lives), but the previous evening had concluded with a tedious, exhausting talk with her mother, and when she’d walked through the door of their cabin, she’d stripped off her clothes and let them rest where they lay. All she wanted was Bellamy to hold her, and he had, all night long, which is why she slept well – too well—and is in this predicament today.

Bellamy smirks as he throws a pair of pants in her direction. “I wish, but you seem to have more important things to do.”

Clarke ignores him as she buttons her pants and hooks her bra into place. Bellamy frowns as his favorite part of her body disappears behind all that worn, fraying cotton. “I’m late.”

“She’ll get over it.” Bellamy comes over and presses one palm to her back, fingers splayed over the base of her spine. “Breathe, Princess, breathe. It’s going to be okay.”

It might not be, because Clarke can’t find a shirt, or her left sock, and her toes protest when she forces a boot over her bare foot. It’ll blister, but there’s no time to worry about it, not with Lexa and her army waiting outside the gate. Still, Clarke feels her heartbeat slowing, her breathing easing from just Bellamy’s touch, the feel of his skin sliding over hers. When he tugs a shirt over her head, she almost feels calm.

“We’re not done,” he says as she grabs her pack and starts for the door, her left heel already protesting. 

Bellamy looks pointedly at the bed and Clarke contemplates throwing it all to hell, except she knows what will happen if this alliance falls, if the Ice Clans can’t be defeated, and she owes it to her people. “Tonight,” she promises and straps her pack over her back. 

He grabs his own pack and she waits in the threshold for him to kiss her goodbye. They’re late, so it’s short and to the point, but no less meaningful. Clarke’s lost hours of her life in his kiss; it’s time she never wants to give back.

“I’m holding you to it,” Bellamy vows and swats her on the behind as he ducks out the door and heads towards the training barracks.

Clarke shakes her head, body already tingling in anticipation. She shifts her pack and hurries to the Council Room. She’s so, so late. And because she’s so late, she never sees the teacup.

 

* * *

 

Clarke rubs her temples and shifts in her seat to get some feeling back in her ass. The moment with Bellamy has long since faded as the meeting drags on. Camp Jaha wants more, the Grounders are trying to give less, and the Sky People’s youngest chancellor has a headache. 

“Enough,” Clarke says forcefully, takes a breath to collect herself. She might want to punch all these people in the face, but they can’t know. She can’t let them think she’s weak. 

Six sets of eyes meet hers and Clarke forces a thin smile. “I have a solution.” All those eyes look to her in expectation rather than surprise and it only makes her head hurt more. “We’re getting nowhere arguing about grain deliveries and guard schedules.” She fixes a sharp look on her mother. “What do you want?” She shifts her gaze to Kyla, one of the Grounder representatives. “What about you?”

Neither side wants to cave first, but maybe Abby sympathizes with her daughter, or maybe she remembers how hard it is to lead, because she sighs heavily and lists her demands. “We’re only planting corn. If we don’t rotate crops, our fields will die.” She looks at Kyla. “I know you have wheat and barley, maybe even alfalfa or soy. We’d like to start trading for all grains.”

Indra’s face is permanently set in a glare, and nothing changes while she and Kyla confer in Trigedasleng. “You’ll have your grain,” she says and Abby gives a rare nod of satisfaction.

“What do you want in return?” Clarke addresses Kyla, even if Indra will ultimately make the call.

“We’d like guns,” Kyla says and a collective silence falls over the group; even Indra looks like she might actually be feeling something. “Our people are ready.”

Abby’s jaw tightens and Sinclair looks worried, but Octavia smiles broadly and turns in her seat to grasp Indra’s hands. “I’m glad you’re doing this.”

Indra’s face is still impassive, but there’s pride in her eyes for how far her protégé has come under her tutelage. “The mountain has been taken. Now we must break the ice.”

“Together,” Octavia adds. 

“Together,” Indra agrees, the barest hint of a smile curving her mouth. Clarke feels a little like she’s fallen into a different dimension, but she won’t question a diplomatic Indra. Octavia’s been good for her and vice versa. With her Grounder braids and tattoos twined around her collarbone, it’s hard to remember the girl that chased butterflies. 

“You’ll have your guns,” Clarke confirms. “We’ll teach you how to use them.” 

She rises from her seat and the others get up too, bow their heads before filing out of the room. Only Abby stays behind, arms crossed and jaw tight as she regards her daughter. “Guns? Really?”

Clarke pauses in organizing her files. She’s had this conversation before, and she’s not backing down either. “It’s been three years, Mom. If we don’t trust them now, we never will.”

Abby raises her chin and Clarke doesn’t like the look in her eyes. They’re dark, and full of judgment, and remind her too much of a boy she once loved. “You’re leading us down a dangerous road. I wish you’d talked to me about it first.”

“I wish you’d talked to me about a lot of things, but you didn’t.” Clarke’s fingers tighten around the files. Abby looks pained and Clarke feels bad, for half a second, until she remembers that her mother opened this can of worms. It’s Jake again, the secret Abby shared, a betrayal Clarke’s never sure she’ll be able to forgive. She raises her own chin and doesn’t back down. “My decision is final.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Abby’s footsteps are heavy as she storms out the door.

Clarke smoothes out her files. She hopes she does too.

 

* * *

 

Dinner’s cooking over the fire when Bellamy gets home, just a simple stew of venison and tubers, but there are herbs now, mostly rosemary and thyme, and on very rare, special occasions, sometimes even salt. It’s not one of those nights, but Clarke thinks it will still taste okay. Better than the charred meat and boiled roots they choked down their first few months on the ground.

Bellamy kisses her cheek when he comes in and Clarke smiles but doesn’t look up from her list. She’s trying to figure out which guns to give Lexa’s army; her people will want the newer models but she doesn’t think it’s a good idea to train novices on weapons that have seen better days. 

“Fight any mutant gorillas?” Bellamy asks as he joins her at the table. He pulls out his own file of guard rosters.

Clarke’s smile widens and she glances up from her work. “Get locked in a cage, drained of your blood?” He smiles back to let her know that he's okay.

It was Murphy that suggested it, humor to heal trauma, and they’d both stared at him like he’d lost his mind as he’d shrugged and turned back to the fire. “Even I know I’m not that funny, but it helps.”

He’s rarely funny, but it does help, and the jokes have been a thing between them, a way to lighten the load without forgetting where they came from. In case she needs a reminder, Clarke knows the map of scars across Bellamy’s back that matches the scar on her forearm. No one comes out the mountain the same.

“My mom’s being a pain,” Clarke says and flips over the document. In the morning, she’ll need to meet with Monty to discuss the new planting program, and she wants to be prepared.

“What else is new?” The stew hisses and lets them know that dinner’s ready. “I’ll get it,” Bellamy says and pushes back his chair. “You have enough on your plate.”

He does too, but Clarke lets him. She looks up from her work and watches him bend to take the pot from the fire, traces the long, lean line of his back with her eyes. She’ll make it up to him later.

 

* * *

 

“I love you,” she says before she slides down around him, smiles at the way his eyes drift closed and a small moan escapes his lips. He’s beautiful like this, open and exposed, and she waits to move, extends the moment as long as she can.

He knows her, knows her too well, and he presses his mouth to the pulse point in her neck and so her hips jerk. “I love you more.” He shifts his hips and it’s her eyes that slide closed, stars pressing against her eyelids.

It’s like the teacup isn’t even there.

 

* * *

 

They wake up on time the next morning, wrapped up in each other, with the sun shining weakly through that crack in the roof.

“We really need to fix the roof,” Clarke reminds Bellamy as she gets dressed. He’s already up and moving, fixing a quick breakfast of porridge and berries. 

He nods and sets two bowls on the table. “Hopefully, I’ll get to it this afternoon.”

“Will Kane give you the time off?” She picks up her teacup and fills it with hot water, gives the herbs some time to seep before attempting a sip.

Bellamy just smirks at her. “Like he has a choice.”

It’s a good threat, but Clarke knows he won’t follow through. Kane might only be a de facto general, but Bellamy respects him. He won’t duck out on his responsibilities, no matter that he can. Clarke blows on her tea and prepares herself for another morning of sunlight alarm clocks. At least they’re not late today.

Bellamy’s halfway through breakfast before Clarke tries her tea, and she sputters on the first sip. It’s never tasted great, but it’s especially strong this morning. “You all right?”

Clarke nods through a cough. “I think I messed up the proportions. I don’t remember it being so bitter.”

He pauses in bringing his spoon to his mouth. “But it’s okay, right?”

She takes an enthusiastic sip and smiles widely. “Everything’s fine.”

Bellamy turns back to his breakfast; Clarke gulps down her tea. For the second time in as many days, she hopes she’s right.

 

* * *

 

“Clarke? Clarke? You there?” Monty’s face is full of concern. It’s two weeks after her meeting with Indra and Kyla and he’s spent the morning explaining how they’ll preserve the barley and alfalfa seeds through the winter. They have a small winter wheat crop growing, but their main diet will still be corn and salted meat. It turns her stomach just thinking about it.

“Sorry,” she says and takes a sip of water. “I’m having some trouble concentrating today.” She wouldn’t normally admit to weakness, but it’s Monty, and he’s like an armored vault. She knows no one, not even Jasper, will hear about this. 

Monty smiles. “Trouble sleeping?” His smile is devious and Clarke rolls her eyes.

“More like worried about winter. My mom still thinks scurvy is a possibility.” 

The distraction works and Monty jots a note on his clipboard. “I’ll talk to Max tomorrow, see how the Grounders supplement their diet.” 

“Great.” Clarke forces a smile, even though the nausea lingers. She can’t believe she’s this affected by the possibility of eating dried deer all winter. “Let’s check in later this week.”

They part ways and she rushes to the Council Room for the daily lunch briefing. It’s the usual complaints – “my cabin isn’t nice enough”, “I hate my work assignment” – and Clarke asks Murphy to see what he can do. He’s different after whatever happened in the City of Light, like he sees more, and he’s been good at delegating responsibilities. They don’t want people stuck in jobs out of habit, but there are basic tasks that need to be done. People are afraid of him, the all-seeing eyes and eerie calm, and listen when he asks them to help out. He’s also good at matching them with the right role. Clarke doesn’t know what happened to him there, but she doesn’t question it either. This Murphy doesn’t make her want to sleep with one eye open.

She pushes her food across her plate as Sinclair gives an engineering update. Her stomach is still queasy and her eyes are heavy and shredded boar isn’t all that appealing. She nibbles on a roll and sips her water instead, makes a note to ask Wick about the status of the hot water heater. With winter approaching, cold showers won’t be an option any longer.

It doesn’t get better as the meeting continues, and she has to pinch herself a few times to keep from falling asleep. It’s unsettling to say the least. She’s gotten a good eight hours each night for the past week; she has no idea why she’s this exhausted.

When they break at 3:00, she goes home for a quick nap. If she doesn’t, she’s fairly certain she’ll pass out on top of her factory reports. They’re not moving quickly enough to have a camp’s worth of coats ready by the first snow. 

She’s still in bed when the sun sets and is jarred awake when Bellamy sinks onto the mattress and presses a hand to her forehead. “Princess?” His voice is rough with worry. “What’s going on?”

Clarke shoots to a sitting position. She can’t believe she slept away the entire afternoon. “What time is it?”

The worry spreads across Bellamy’s face. “It’s dinner time, Clarke.” When she only blinks at him in confusion, his mouth flattens into a thin line. “I’m taking you to the med-bay.”

The thought of dealing with her mother again is enough to completely wake her up. “I’m fine, really. I just got tired.” She swings her legs out of bed and opens the breadbox to make an easy dinner. Rolls and jam will have to do. 

Bellamy doesn’t look convinced, but lets the matter drop. Clarke ignores the concern in his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Three days later, she’s in the bath with Bellamy, his hands trailing rough and heated over her slick skin. It’s a luxury they rarely allow themselves, but Bellamy built the tub and helps her carry the water from the fire, so once a month they dump in lavender fronds and spend time soaking until the water is cold.

He’s cupping her breasts, thumbs circling the nipples, when his hands still. “These are new.”

She glances down. Nothing seems different to her, but he’s always loved her breasts and paid them far more attention than she does, so maybe he’s right. She squints to get a better look. “Are they?”

His mouth drops to the curve of her shoulder. “I don’t mind, but yeah, definitely bigger.”

She lets her head fall back to deepen the angle. “Maybe I gained a little weight.” It’s unlikely, but she’s always been on the curvy side. An extra pound or two doesn’t always show.

“Stop talking,” he mumbles against her skin, and shifts so she’s in his lap, his chest pressing against her back. She can feel his heart beating rapidly through all those layers of muscle and bone.

“Yes, Sir,” she says, gasps as his hand slips beneath the water and she forgets all about their conversation. He feels too good inside her to be able to think.

 

* * *

 

Clarke has never been a good liar, and she’s even worse at lying to herself. It’s been a month and the symptoms haven’t gone away. Her breasts are sore, food makes her want to wretch, and she’s in bed before 8:00 most nights. She has to pee all the time too, which is about the only thing she can hide from Bellamy. Thank god he isn’t with her all day long. 

The other things are worrying him, and there’s only so long she can hold him off before he marches her straight to Abby and Clarke no longer controls her own story. She can’t let that happen. Maybe more than destroying the Ice Clans, she can’t let that happen.

She’s been late before, but never while she was having regular sex with Bellamy. It was in the early days, when there was no food and too much exercise and fighting just to stay alive took up all her time. Frankly, it was a relief; she hadn’t been looking forward to waddling around with leaves or moss in her underwear.

But that had been then and this time is different. She’s late, and soon Bellamy will realize it too. Fall is always crazy busy as they prepare for winter and the date might have slipped his mind once, but not twice. Her time is running out.

There’s a meeting with Lexa to exchange information about the Ice Clan threat and Clarke turns it into an all day affair. They don’t make much progress on a plan, except agreeing to keep training through the winter and attack in the spring. The ice is real and the enemy rarely leaves its lands until the first thaw, so there’s time. Clarke does the calculations in her head; if she’s right, she’ll barely be able to walk when the attack launches.

Except she doesn’t know and when the meeting wraps, she makes an excuse about checking in with Nyko regarding medical supplies and leaves her entourage at Lexa’s mess hall. Miller assures her that everything will be fine and she believes him. Under his father’s and Bellamy’s guidance, he’s grown into a good man. Perhaps not a leader, but still excellent at following orders. One day, when Bellamy is general, he’ll be a strong second.

Clarke watches Miller get the guards settled before slipping out and circling to Nyko’s cabin. She’s always liked it in there, with drying herbs hanging from the roof and shelves of bottles filled with odd powders and potions lining the walls. The med-bay is cold and sterile, but this room is comforting. Clarke breathes in the herbs and flowers and feels her senses clearing. 

Nyko looks up from pounding at a mandrake root. “Chancellor,” he says flatly.

Clarke nods her head in acknowledgement. “Healer.” All these years later and Nyko is still wary; Clarke doesn’t blame him. The truth of Finn’s crime came out eventually and Nyko has never looked at her the same way again. She might not have pulled the trigger, but the blood is still on her hands. It only makes this request harder, but she’s desperate. There’s nowhere else to go. “I need your help.” Nyko’s face is indifferent and she tries again. “I need your help. Please.”

Perhaps it’s the note of begging that changes his mind, but he puts down his pestle and gives her his full attention. “What do you need?”

Clarke can’t quite look him in the eye so she fixes her attention on a bunch of tansy hanging from the ceiling. It’s likely why she’s here in the first place. “I think I’m pregnant. I need you to find out for sure.”

A rare smile breaks out across Nyko’s face, joy filling his eyes, and it takes Clarke a moment to remember how sacred children are to the Grounders. They have fertility problems from their radiation exposure and carrying a baby to term is rare. Only the strongest of them survive and it keeps their numbers from growing. “Goufa,” he whispers and Clarke nods.

“Yes, a child.”

He rummages through the objects lining a shelf and presents Clarke with a wood cup. “I’ll need you to urinate in this.” She stares at him blankly and he gives her shoulder a little push. “Go.” 

It’s one of the more surreal experiences of her life, squatting behind Nyko’s cabin to pee in a cup, but she does it with as much dignity as she can muster. When she pulls her pants up, she’s pretty proud of not getting anything on her boots. She only has the one pair after all. 

She can’t look at Nyko as she steps back into the cabin, and keeps her eyes focused on the worn wood of the table as he takes the cup and pours a few drops onto a pile of white powder; the smell makes her eyes water. “Bleach,” she says in awe, ponders where the Grounders have found it, if her people can get their hands on it too. It would do wonders for sanitation and cleanliness in their camp.

The little pile of bleach fizzes and foams and Clarke feels a little dizzy. It’s Nyko’s test, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the results. “Congratulations,” he says and she grips the edge of the table to keep herself upright. She might have the truth, but it doesn’t mean she has any idea what to do with it.


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

 

Once the truth is out, there’s no way of forcing it back in. 

There’s too much excitement in Nyko’s eyes, so Clarke thanks him quietly and pastes a smile on her face to hide her shock. If she won’t show weakness to her own council, she certainly can’t let her guard down in front of a Grounder. 

“Thank you,” she says and reaches out to squeeze Nyko’s hand. “I appreciate you taking the time.”

His smile only widens and she grips the table again to keep from running. “Babies are a blessing.”

Nyko’s rarely says more than five words at a time, but judging from the grin on his face, Clarke worries that he’s about to turn into the camp gossip. She still hasn’t processed the news yet; no one can find out until she does. “Please don’t say anything. I’d like to tell Bellamy myself.”

“Of course,” Nyko says and hurries to a cabinet. He opens the door and pulls out three clay pots, dumps a bit of powder from each into a hide bag and pulls the drawstring. “A pinch in your tea every morning.”

Clarke takes the bag and represses a wince. It’s her morning routine that got her into this mess in the first place. Accidents will happen, especially when she forgot a day of tansy tea. Just that one time and her life’s changed forever. 

“Thank you again.” She tucks the bag into her pack. As she leaves, she feels Nyko’s eyes on her, and it takes all her self-control to walk out at a normal pace. 

She ducks behind the cabin and squats in the dirt again, hands on her knees while she sucks in deep, gulping breaths. The fall air is cool but her skin is hot and her lungs feel like they’re closing in on themselves. It’s a panic attack, not her heart giving out, and she hangs her head between her knees while she forces her breathing to slow down. She’s just pregnant. She defeated the Mountain Men, beat her mother in a vote for chancellor. There’s no reason she can’t handle this; she ignores the little voice in the back of her mind telling her that this is different.

When her breathing levels out, she heads to the mess hall to pick up Miller and his team. She’s mostly stopped trembling, but her heart is beating uneasily in her chest and her skin is still flushed. “Guess winter’s almost here,” she says, hopes they think her reddened cheeks are from the chilly air. 

She keeps waiting for them to say something on the ride home but Jasper keeps up a persistent chatter about the fertilizer the Grounders gave him and everyone ignores his yammering. Clarke worries the entire time: can they tell? Will she puke up lunch? Should she even be riding a horse? From her biology classes back on the Ark, she thinks the answer, at least to her last question, is yes. Her baby is no bigger than a grain of wheat and unlikely to be affected by the constant jarring. In a few months she’ll have to revaluate, but right now she can take it one day at a time.

Like telling Bellamy. She has no idea what to do, what she wants, but she needs him to be there every step of the way. She remembers his face when she sent him to Mount Weather, the pain and betrayal when she sent him to die. Later, he’d tell her it wasn’t because she’d told him that his life was work risking – it was because she’d decided without him. No matter her eventual choice, she can’t hide things from him anymore.

She blows off the rest of the afternoon and spends the time reorganizing the cabin. They don’t have much but she still sweeps every inch of the floor and bangs the hell out of the kitchen rug. She scrubs the cauldron and cleans out the fire grate and washes all their dirty clothes and hangs them on the line. Some might call it nesting, but Clarke calls it keeping busy so she doesn’t go insane. It’s felt like she’s been carrying a ticking bomb in her belly all day – every time someone looks at her, she’s afraid it’ll explode into a million truths that she can’t take back. 

Bellamy finds her half buried under their bed, broom in hand, trying sweep out the cobwebs and dust mites. “Clarke, you lost?” He startles her, makes her jolt so she smacks her head on the bedframe. She slides into the main room and at first all she sees are Bellamy’s legs, but she pushes back further and he’s looking at her pitiably. “Poor baby,” he says and leans down to press a kiss to the bruise forming on her forehead.

She jerks back like she’s been slapped. It’s not him, or the bruise, but his word choice. She just slid out on her stomach. He’s not wrong in his assertion even if it wasn’t his intention. “We need to talk,” she says and carefully sits beside him on the bed. 

He waits for her to speak, without worry or concern knitting his brow. It’s so different than their early days, when they were constantly waiting for the other to run, or die, or break their hearts. But those days are over and he just sits patiently at her side; it makes this bomb a little easier to drop. 

“I’m pregnant.”

It hangs there in the air, this life-changing news, and Bellamy says nothing. He does blink rapidly at her and Clarke’s tempted to snap her fingers in front of his face to knock him out of it. She can’t have him slipping away right now.

“Bell?”

“You’re sure.” It’s not a question even though he phrases it as one.

“I went to see Nyko today, but he only confirmed what I already knew.” He opens his mouth to speak but she rushes forward before he can. “I just wanted to be positive before I said anything. I only found out this afternoon.”

He could push, ask why she didn’t talk to him when the first symptoms started or her period was late, or why she didn’t invite him to Nyko’s for the test, but he must see the panic in her eyes, must realize that she’s completely terrified, because he folds his hands in his lap and looks at her solemnly. “What do you want to do?” 

It’s the question she knew he’d ask but had hoped to avoid, and she hangs her head while she waits to answer. “I don’t know.”

“Okay. Okay.” He lets out a shaky breath and out of the corner of her eye Clarke can see his hands are trembling. 

“What do you want to do?”

There’s a long pause and then his quiet response. “It’s your choice.”

She grips his chin and turns him to face her. He’s terrified too, so much fear pooling in those dark eyes, but he smiles weakly at her anyway. “Bell, I know how you feel about this. Octavia – ”

“I love my sister,” he interrupts, surprises her with his response. “I’ve never regretted her, but I didn’t have a choice. My mom put O in my arms and told me she was my responsibility and my entire life changed.” He brushes his hand down her cheek, looks at her with eyes filled with love. “You have a choice. I’ll support whatever you decide.” 

She can’t help but kissing him, because he’s saying all the right things and it's exactly what she needs. She has no idea what she wants, but she feels stronger just knowing he’s beside her. “Can we figure it out later?”

He laughs softly, because he also remembers that night in the woods, the night they almost died together, the night she made his life mean something, and kisses her again. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Clarke’s not sure she’ll ever be ready but at least it’s a start.

 

* * *

 

They make a plan, because they’re Bellamy and Clarke, but because it’s also practical. By Clarke’s estimations, she’s about four weeks along, and they don’t have much longer to decide. They agree on a week that will likely be the longest of both their lives.

“I don’t want to push you, but I want you to know that I’m here.” He’s finishing paperwork at the table while she makes lunch to go. 

She tucks two sandwiches into his pack. “I’m fine.”

“I know you are.” He kisses her softly, lingering a moment longer than necessary. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

“Be safe.”

“Always am.” 

The door closes as usual, but it somehow sounds louder than usual. Clarke packs her own bag and finishes her own paperwork, just like she does most days. Despite her best efforts, it’s not the same. No matter what she decides, she knows it won’t be the same again.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy comes home long past dark, smelling of cool night air and pine soap. The public bathhouse is weird for some, but Clarke’s glad he stopped by before climbing into bed with her. She has no patience for mud between her sheets.

“How was it?” she asks as he slides off his pants and drops them in the laundry basket. She can’t really see him, but she’s looking forward to all that skin and muscle resting against her back. 

“It’s over and no one got shot. I’ll call that a win.”

She chuckles as he falls into the bed with a groan, and rolls on his side to take her in his arms. His hands lock over her stomach, like they do most nights, but it feels different this time. They both stiffen and an awkward silence fills the air.

“I haven’t made a decision.”

Bellamy shifts positions, pulls her a little closer. “I’m a patient man.”

“No, you’re not, but I appreciate that you’re trying.” She laughs again and feels him smile against her neck.

They’re quiet a while but Clarke knows he’s still awake. His heartbeat is too fast and his limbs are too tense. He can’t even begin to fool her anymore. “Could you forgive me?” 

He pauses for a long moment before his arms tighten around her, so tight she’s glad the baby is smaller than a peanut. If she can barely breathe, she can’t imagine how it’s doing.” Bell…”

He eases up some, but only a little. “I love you,” he says softly. “I didn’t know I wanted kids until I met you, but yeah, I want them. I want the family I never had growing up. But I want you more and if that’s what you decide…you’re enough, Clarke. You’ll always be enough.”

She takes his hand, holds it so the “C” etched in the base of his thumb mashes against the “B” branded in hers. “You are blood of my blood, and bone of my bone,” she whispers. They’re the vows they took, just the two of them in the shadow of the dropship, in the place where it all began. Marriage isn’t a thing on the ground, but commitment is. She thinks she’s finally starting to understand what it means.

His voice catches as he says the next part. “I give you my body, that we two might be one. I give you my spirit, ‘til our life shall be done.”

She presses a kiss right over his heart. “You’re enough for me too.”

“I’m in it for the long haul, Princess. Six days and we’ll know what that looks like.” He shifts so he’s lying on his back with her breasts pressed against his chest. “Although I’ll miss these.”

It makes her laugh and eases the tension so she can close her eyes. He does too, but she’s awake long after his heartbeat slows and his breathing falls into a steady rhythm. He’s all she needs, but she’s beginning to think she wants more.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Clarke treats a Hydra Station refugee and her daughter. She works in the clinic two or three afternoons a week, and there’s an influx of colds as winter inches closer. Mali is young and Daisy is even younger, and they both look pitiful as she puts on her mask and enters their exam room. The surgical mask is uncomfortable, but she can’t afford to get sick for more reasons than one; her responsibilities don’t just entail running the camp anymore.

“Fluids,” Clarke says. Her voice is garbled behind the mask, but she thinks Mali understands. “Rest and fluids is the best we can do.”

Mali nods, but looks down at her daughter. “What about Daisy?” The baby is less than a year old, and there are tears running down her cheeks because she’s so miserable. 

“Let me see.” Clarke gently pries open Daisy’s mouth and sticks a thermometer inside. It’s not the best way to take a baby’s temperature, but with precious few resources, they’re doing oral readings only. “You must be frantic,” Clarke adds as they wait for the mercury to set.

Mali gazes adoringly at her child. “I’m frustrated because she’s in pain and I can’t make it go away, but I’m not worried.” She smiles up at Clarke. “She’s hardier than she looks.”

Clarke smiles politely, simultaneously glad and sad that she lacks Mali’s naivety. Babies can be strong, but they’re quick to catch infections, quick to get hurt, quick to _die_. It makes her stomach lurch just thinking about it. She can’t lose anyone else that she loves. 

Mali must see something in Clarke’s face because her smile falls and she reaches out to lay a hand over Clarke’s clenched fist, the hand Clarke didn’t realize she had curled into a ball. “Don’t worry, Chancellor. She’ll be fine. You keep us safe and we’ll do the rest.”

“I appreciate the confidence,” Clarke says and pulls out the thermometer, glad to change the subject. Daisy’s temperature is high, but not worryingly so. “Are you still nursing her?” Mali nods. “Good. Your antibodies will help her fight infections, even if this one is new to all of us. Give her water and a little porridge if she can keep it down. All we can do is try to build up her immune system. Yours too.” 

“Thank you, doc – Chancellor,” Mali says and rises to her feet. Clarke is impressed with how agile she is despite twenty or so pounds of weight in her arms. 

“Any time.”

She watches Mali coo at her daughter as they disappear into the late fall sunshine and tries to imagine herself with a baby in her arms, all that soft, warm weight staring back at her with eyes that hold nothing but trust. Her stomach rises up into her throat again and she drops into a nearby chair, takes deep breaths to calm the panic rising in her chest. She remembers the last time someone trusted her with his life, Finn’s sad smile and Raven’s screams and the hot, dark blood staining her hands. She won’t let herself think of Bellamy the day they brought him home from the mountain.

She doesn’t know if she should try again. She doesn’t know if she even deserves to.

 

* * *

 

Three days pass and Clarke’s no closer to coming to a decision. Some days she wants to keep it and some days she can’t keep anything down, and she mostly worries that either way she’s making the worst decision of her life. She knows there’s no perfect answer, but she wants to make the right choice; she _can’t_ make the wrong one.

True to his word, Bellamy doesn’t push, but she can feel the questions buzzing inside him. He’s practically vibrating with his need to know and it makes her dilemma even worse. Finally, he can’t contain himself, and words slip out despite his best efforts to keep them in. They’re eating dinner and it was his night to fix something and she loves him all the more for the potatoes and dried beans that he’s turned into a meal. She can’t stomach meat and he hasn’t protested the change to vegetarian fare. It makes her hate herself a bit too, how much he’s willing to give so she has what she needs.

“We can’t give it back.”

Clarke’s just taken a bite of stew and raises her eyebrows in question.

“Kids aren’t like that pig Jasper tried to keep outside the chemistry lab. If you don’t like it, or it’s too much work, we can’t give it back. I just wanted you to know.”

He quickly spears a potato and sticks it in his mouth and Clarke swallows uncomfortably in a suddenly dry throat. She always thought she’d be the one to say no. She never thought it would be him.

 

* * *

 

The Camp’s late fall colds turn into the flu and even Abby is waylaid by chills and a fever. She can barely get out of bed, so Clarke makes the executive decision to ban her from the med-bay. Which also means she’s required there all day long, playing the unfamiliar role of second while Jackson takes charge. She mostly tries to breathe behind her mask and tells people to rest, drink more fluids, but there are some patients with non-flu related needs.

Harper has never been quite the same since she came back from Mount Weather. She can walk, and her back mostly bothers her when it rains, but Abby still has her come in twice a year for other reasons. Harper’s body has healed, but her mind…it’s why Clarke checks Bellamy’s eyes each morning. The mountain has left a legacy none of its prisoners can quite shake.

“Hi, Harper,” Clarke says and reviews her file. Raven’s devised some kind of solar charging system and it’s nice using her tablet again. She always felt uncomfortable scribbling notes on pages torn out of books. “I see you’re here for a check up. How are you feeling?”

Harper looks around nervously. “Where’s Dr. Griffin?”

“She has the flu so I’m covering for her today.” Clarke notes the fear in Harper’s eyes and smiles kindly. “This is a safe space. Whatever you tell me, it stays between us. Okay?”

“Okay.” Harper doesn’t sound confident, but she doesn’t leave either. 

Clarke starts easy by taking Harper's vitals. Her pulse is normal, as are her reflexes, and her eyes react normally to light and movement. “You’re in good health and don’t have the flu. Count yourself lucky.”

“I guess.” She doesn’t add more and Clarke stays quiet, lets Harper talk in her own time. They were never close and didn't bond once the other girl came back. Harper’s mostly stayed near the Grounders, training as part of Indra’s crew; after Octavia, she probably speaks the best Trigedasleng in all Camp Jaha. She was a gunner at the dropship and she’s taken to the life of warrior well, with braids in her hair and Grounder ink crisscrossing her wrists, but Clarke doesn’t think it’s her profession that made her come in today. “I want to have a baby,” Harper finally says.

Clarke feels a giggle bubbling up through her chest and swallows hard to keep it down. She’s not laughing at Harper, but the absurdity of the situation. Twice she’s been in the med-bay this week and both times her work has paralleled her own life. There’s no god on the ground, but _something_ is playing a cosmic joke on her. It’s the only explanation. 

“Sure,” Clarke says. “Are you using tansy?” Harper nods. “Stop taking it and you should be good to go by your next cycle.” Harper just keeps staring at her. “Is something wrong?”

“I had a miscarriage when I first came back,” Harper says softly. Her eyes are hard, but wet, and Clarke fights keep her own expression impassive. As if Harper didn’t go through enough in Tsing’s lab. “My bone marrow wasn’t the only thing they took from me.” Harper pauses, her mouth tightening as she continues. “Cage, he wanted more than to go outside. He wanted his line to live forever…I didn’t have a choice.” Clarke shouldn’t be surprised. The Mountain Men tortured Bellamy, drained Grounders of their blood, turned Lincoln into a Reaper. Rape and forced breeding should be just another crime in their arsenal, but it manages to shock her. “You’re safe now,” she assures Harper. 

“I know.” Harper’s eyes are still hard but the tears are gone. “It’s why I train so much. No one will ever take me again.” 

“But you’re afraid what happened then will affect you now.”

“I love Penn. The first time, I hated how the baby was conceived, but I didn’t hate it. The miscarriage was a relief, and I knew it was the right thing, but still…it hurt more than all the people we lost in the war.”

“And now you want to try again.”

“He's the right man and it's the right time. The world is better now and I’m ready to share it.”

Clarke smiles and lays her hand over Harper’s. “A miscarriage shouldn’t prevent you from conceiving again. It might take some time, but there’s no reason it shouldn’t happen.”

“Thanks.” Harpers smiles too, for the first time all afternoon, and even hugs Clarke before leaving the room. 

Clarke makes a fuss about cleaning up, although it solely consists of putting away her flashlight and reflex hammer. Harper’s words replay in her head, _“The world is better now and I’m ready to share it.”_ Harper’s not wrong. They have a permanent camp, ample food and shelter. Alliances. A school and a clinic and the basic necessities of human survival. The Ice Clans are a threat, but there will always be things to worry about. She drops her hand to her belly, flat as ever beneath all her layers, and wonders if Harper is right about the other part. Bellamy is the only man for her, but is it the right time? Or maybe more important – will there ever be a right time?

She opens the door and welcomes her next patient. He’s a little boy with dark hair and eyes and a sprinkling of freckles across his nose. She wonders again if the universe is trying to tell her something. She wishes that she knew what it was.

 

* * *

 

Clarke hears Bellamy come in, hears the pad of his socked feet on the floorboards and the soft whoosh of air he exhale as he leans back against the closed door. Her week is up and he’s preparing himself for her answer.

“What are you doing?” he finally asks, crosses the room to where she’s measuring floor space. “Are we getting new furniture?”

She puts down the makeshift tape measure and turns to face him. He’s got his arms crossed while he watches her carefully, searches her face for any kind of decision. She walks towards him and pauses, gives him what he’s been asking for.

“I’m trying to figure out where we’ll put the crib.”

He pales and then flushes and then the most beautiful of smiles brightens his face. It’s not just the size of the smile that makes her gasp, but the joy radiating from it. She’s never seen him this happy, this alive. She’s still terrified, but it was the right choice. She can do this as long as she has him. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, reaches down to cup her face in his hands. They’re strong, capable. She can’t wait to see them holding their baby. 

Speaking is a challenge, so she nods instead, tears pooling in her eyes. She knows about pregnancy hormones, but she didn’t think it would happen so soon; she’s not even halfway through her first trimester. “I want this.” She pushes onto her tiptoes and kisses him, soft and gentle and full of everything she feels. _Love. Devotion. Children. A Future_.

When he pulls back, he’s a little teary-eyed and Clarke has a feeling she’ll be seeing him a lot more like this. That heart on his sleeve seems to have grown three sizes in mere moments. “I want it too.”

“We’re going to be okay, right?”

He kisses her again as he rucks up her shirt and lays his hand flat over her stomach. There’s a slight curve there, like she ate too much for dinner, but it’s hard to the touch and it’s only going to get bigger. “Yeah,” he says and drops to his knees so he can press a tender kiss over her bellybutton. “We’re going to be just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to tell you a story: when I was a teenager, I read “Outlander” for the first time, and as those who’ve seen the show know, that book contains some awesome wedding vows. This was also a period in time when Ewan McGregor was my ultimate celebrity crush, and my family went to the Scottish Highlands on vacation, and I might have prayed that _I_ would fall through a set of standing stones and into the arms of James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser (or perhaps just any red-haired highlander). And now, some years later, I realize this (mostly likely) won’t happen, but I still love the wedding vows and rites. Particularly the scars Claire and Jamie literally leave on each other. So while I take no credit for what happens in scene in this chapter, I will give all credit to Diana Gabaldon and her wonderful imagination. And maybe this year, I’ll finally get through the fifth book and find the inspiration to finish the series. But I digress….thank you for the continued support. Enjoy.


	3. Chapter 3

 

* * *

 

It turns out that choosing to keep the baby isn’t the hardest decision of Clarke’s life – it’s telling people she’s pregnant (her mother) or keeping it a secret (all of Camp Jaha, but especially what’s left of the 100). 

Bellamy’s given her a few days to get used to the idea, but she’s almost six weeks along and needs to start seeing a doctor.

“Clarke, c’mon. I’ll go with you.”

“I think that will just make it worse.” She’s reviewing work requests while he cleans his gun, and staring at all those words makes her head throb, but not nearly as much as it will when she tells her mother. 

“She can’t kill both of us at the same time.”

He’s smiling when she looks up and closes her folder. “Can we wait a little longer?” She gets up and slips into his lap, wraps her arms around his neck. “I like keeping it just between us.”

“The longer we wait, the greater her wrath…”

Clarke bites her lip in frustration. Her mother is so predictable. “Three days, okay? Let me have three days before I deal with her.”

“Three days,” he says and drops a kiss to her temple. “Then we face her together.”

“You might have to wear your battle armor.”

His hand flattens over the bump of her belly. “We’re family now. She’s going to have to deal with me eventually.”

It’s unlikely that Abby will ever cave, but Clarke can’t hide her smile as they turn back to their work. Family. She likes the sound of it.

 

* * *

 

Clarke doesn’t bother protesting when her three days up. She wakes before Bellamy, dresses quickly, puts on the kettle, and makes him breakfast. She’s too nervous to eat, but does choke down some herbal tea while he slurps down his porridge. 

“You’re disgusting.”

He looks pointedly at her untouched meal. “You’re not eating.”

“I can’t.”

His gaze shifts to her stomach. “You’re eating for two now.”

“If you’re going to nag me the entire pregnancy, maybe I made the wrong choice.”

She meant it as a joke, but knows he interpreted it differently when his spoon clangs against his bowl. “Never say that again.” His voice is razor sharp and his eyes are nearly black with anger. It’s been a long time since Clarke’s seen him like this, since she brought down the mountain and found him, battered and broken and staring at her with dark, dead eyes. Cage’s vengeance had been merciless after he’d discovered Bellamy’s crime.

Clarke feels his anger like a blow as he pushes back from the table and storms outside. She stares blankly at his empty chair, unsure of what just happened.

She gives him a few minutes then treks behind their cabin and finds him where she expected him to be, sitting on the stump he uses to split logs for their fire, cradling his head in his hands. 

“I’m sorry,” she says to his back. She wants him to know she’s there, but also give him space, so she doesn’t touch him even though she wants nothing more than to throw her arms around him. “It was a bad joke.” He doesn’t respond. “In terrible taste,” she adds when he still won’t speak. “Bell, talk to me.”

He sighs. “I’m sorry too. I know you didn’t mean it.” He turns to look at her, but she comes around instead, kneels in the dirt under the shade of their apple tree. “You didn’t, right?”

Clarke grabs his hands, holds them so tight she thinks her nails are digging in, but he doesn’t pull back. “No. We made a decision and I’m not changing my mind. ” He nods, but his jaw is taut with tension. “What’s really going on?”

The anger disappears from his eyes only to be replaced by terrible sadness. “I know we joke around,” he says quietly. “Make fun of all these horrible things that happened so we can move on with our lives, but this…it just felt different, like everything we’ve been working towards was slipping away.”

She brushes the backs of her fingers over his scratchy jaw, tilts his chin so the hair falls out of his eyes and she can gaze into their dark depths. “It _is_ different.” She takes his hand and presses it over the slight swell of her belly. “It’s not just us anymore.”

His fingers flex against her stomach “Can we hold off on the abortion jokes for a bit?”

“Well when you say it like that…” She hadn’t meant it as a joke. Humor isn’t her forte but one of the many things she’s learned from Bellamy, and even though she tries to get it right, it comes out wrong anyway. 

“Clarke, I’m serious.” He doesn’t sound angry anymore but disappointed that she isn’t learning. 

“I am too. You and me and the baby? I’m in it for the long haul.” His eyes soften when she repeats his words and relief blooms in her chest. She can’t take him being angry with her, even when she deserves it. “But I was serious about the nagging.”

Bellamy laughs and there’s nothing bitter about it. “You know it’s in my nature to hover.”

“Try. Try with all your might.”

“Anything for you, Princess.”

“For us,” she corrects. 

“Yeah,” Bellamy whispers. “For all of us.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke’s in unfamiliar territory while they wait in the exam room for Abby.

She’s nervous, antsy, and Bellamy isn’t much better. She’s been drumming her heels against a metal table for the better part of ten minutes, and he hasn’t noticed, probably because his own legs are shaking with nervous energy. His toes tap against the floor to a beat that matches her own. She finds it comforting how they’re in sync.

Abby’s reading through a chart when she opens the door and it takes her a couple seconds to register her patient’s identity. Clarke didn’t cash in a favor so much as she pulled rank to cut the line. “Hi, Mom,” she says softly. Bellamy stops shaking and glances up from the floor. He sticks his hands under his thighs, likely because they’re sweating. Clarke’s certainly are.

“Clarke!” her mother exclaims. “Is everything okay? What are you doing here?”

Abby’s surprise isn’t, well, a surprise. Clarke’s not visibly ill and she usually sees Jackson for her yearly checkup. Outwardly, it’s not a good sign that Clarke’s asked for her mother; inwardly, it’s not a good sign for their relationship that Clarke dreads telling her so much, but that’s an issue for another day.

“I’m fine,” Clarke assures Abby and reaches for Bellamy’s hand. It is sweaty, but his fingers are strong and assured as they tangle with hers and it’s all the courage she needs. “Bellamy and I, we have some news.” Abby holds her tablet so tightly that her knuckles turn white.

“You’re getting married – ” Abby starts just as Clarke says, “I’m pregnant.” Bellamy gives her hand a good squeeze. Across the room, Abby’s mouth drops open a bit and they give her some time to process the news. “Mom?” 

“I’m going to be a grandmother?” Abby isn’t yelling and she’s not fixing Bellamy with a dark-eyed laser beam of a stare. She mostly looks very young, and very happy, and Clarke can’t remember her mother looking this full of life. It would have been before the council and before her father’s secret, and Clarke doesn’t think about those days anymore. 

“Yeah, Mom. We’re having a baby.”

The haze of happiness lasts a moment longer before Abby remembers who she is and her feelings about Bellamy, and a familiar frown makes its way to her face. “How do you know?”

Clarke takes a breath and clutches at Bellamy’s hand. Abby’s really not going to like the next part. “I went to Nyko. He confirmed what we already suspected.” 

“We know how you feel about us being together,” Bellamy adds. “We wanted to be sure, but we’re now coming to you.” He’s a carbon copy of Clarke, steely eyes and straight posture, but Abby doesn’t look like she’ll back down. 

“When are you due?” Abby’s fingers tap furiously against the screen of her tablet.

“July. I’m about halfway though the first trimester. We thought it was time to see a doctor.”

Abby nods. “You’re drinking fluids and resting as needed?”

“I don’t have the flu, Mom.”

“It can’t hurt.” She snaps closed the lid of the tablet and rummages through a cabinet, hands Clarke a small container. From the size and shape of the pills, she thinks they’re folic acid. “Take one a week. We don’t have a large supply so we’re rationing until we run out. You say you’re about six weeks?” Clarke nods. “Okay. It’s too early for an exam, but come back in a month and we’ll measure the fundal height and see how far along the pregnancy actually is.” 

“Thanks.” 

Abby nods brusquely and picks up the tablet. She stops once before she opens the door, eyes sliding over her daughter and Bellamy’s clasped hands; Clarke holds on even tighter as they wait for the lecture.

“I’m happy for you, honey. Congratulations.” Clarke thinks she sees tears in her mom’s eyes, but Abby’s gone before she can really tell. She and Bellamy let out a collective breath when the door closes.

“That went well.” She lets go of Bellamy’s hand and hops off the table. 

Bellamy rubs his neck, then holds out her jacket so she can step into it. “Did it?”

“She didn’t disown me or try to banish you. That’s good, right?”

He slings an arm over her shoulders and steers them out of the med-bay. “Talk to me in nine months.”

Clarke lets him guide them home. It stays with her on their walk, the hurt in Abby’s eyes when she found out that her daughter went to Nyko first. The rift with her mother has never sat well with Clarke, but she’s learned to live with it, like the crack in her roof or the jagged, red scar on her arm. It’s part of her life, and she long ago learned that life is rarely what she wants it to be. 

Perhaps it’s because her family is expanding, or those hormones again, but it suddenly hurts, raw and sharp like the night she realized how her father really died. There’s enough hatred in her world; it’s exhausting resenting her mother too. 

“Nine months,” she thinks to herself, wonders if it’s enough time to make a change. She’s not sure she’ll succeed, but she knows that she wants to try.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy keeps his word and the nagging stops. Or at least the nagging about her pregnancy; he doesn’t let up about the normal stuff. 

“We’re going to be late.”

He’s leaning against the doorjamb holding Jasper’s birthday present, a set of hand-carved measuring cups for his chemistry set, while Clarke wrestles with her shirt. She doesn’t own many clothes to begin with, but with her breasts seemingly growing a bigger size each week, it’s an increasingly losing battle. She’s already given up on her pants; they’re currently held together by a piece of twine. 

“Clarke?” Bellamy tries again when she doesn’t answer. He turns to find her frantically tugging at the hem of a long-sleeved tee, the seams threatening to split as she struggles to smooth down the fabric. A heated grin spreads across his face, he tosses Jasper’s present on the table, and reaches for her. “I take it back. Let’s skip the party.”

She frowns at him, refuses to cry over something so silly. She used to own one pair of underwear. Only one pair. She can deal with a wardrobe malfunction, although she misses being able to button her pants. “I need to borrow one of your shirts,” she says matter-of-factly. 

Bellamy sighs and lets his hands drop. “I liked my plan better.”

Clarke gives him a little shove towards the clothing chest. When she tugs off her own shirt, she doesn’t need him distracted. “We’re late as it is. Jasper will be heartbroken if we miss it.”

He’s twenty-one today and birthdays have never been easy for him. They always start with a new batch of moonshine ala Monty and their friends gathering by the fire. It gets progressively more depressing as the evening goes on, as Jasper drinks more and remembers that Maya’s dead and how sad it makes him, and everyone else drinks more to compensate. Usually, Clarke participates. Given her other responsibilities, she rarely goes to parties or the like, but Jasper is special. He’s one of the 100, which means he’s one of her people in ways none of the Ark survivors ever will be. She makes an exception for him, even if she only drinks a cup or two. 

She formulates a plan as she and Bellamy make their way to the party. She’s wearing one of his shirts, and knotted it at the waist to keep from swimming in it. She thinks it looks cute, but it’s a temporary solution. As the days wear on, she’ll need a whole new wardrobe. That familiar pain throbs in her temple. Just another item on her unending to-do list. 

“If anyone asks, I’m coming down with the flu.” 

“What?”

“I can’t drink and people will get suspicious. We’ll tell them that I’m getting sick and it’s a precaution.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize that. Not even a sip?”

Clarke smiles. For the only person in their group who’s been around a pregnant woman, he seems to know nothing about what actually happens.

“Just follow my lead, okay?”

He laughs and pulls her into his side. “Always do.”

“Nice of you to make it,” Jasper teases as make their way into the clearing. It’s the usual crowd, the majority of the forty-seven in attendance, and Clarke allows herself a rare show of public emotion and throws her arms around him. 

“Happy birthday!” She’s grateful for the multiple layers of clothing protecting her boobs. They’re especially tender and touching them has been…tough lately, much to Bellamy’s disappointment. “This is from us,” she adds and hands him the present while Bellamy heads for the keg. 

Jasper smiles a little drunkenly. “Thank you. Now get your drink on!”

It’s hard to get her “drink on” while sipping water, but Clarke does her best. And in truth, no one notices the difference. The cups are all metal or wood, and she never drinks much anyway, so her behavior is on par with any other party.

She notices the difference though. First, it’s the little things. She has to go to the bathroom twice. The smell of the moonshine makes her nauseous. She’s yawning every other minute even though it’s barely 9:00. But then, it’s bigger things. She notices the glowing smile on Harper’s face that wasn’t there last year. She hears Raven laugh. She feels Bellamy’s hand slip under her jacket and rest over the growing bump of her stomach. He doesn’t say anything but his hand stays there, strong and assured, over the swell of their child. 

When the party wraps, Jasper’s unsteady on his feet, but his eyes are clear. He hasn’t mentioned Maya, although Clarke knows that he misses her. She doesn’t talk about her dad or Wells either, but she misses them every day. Jasper hugs her goodbye and thanks her for a great party and for the first time, she thinks he actually means it. 

It gives Clarke hope, that change is possible, that her world can be better. It gives her faith in the choice she made.

 

* * *

 

They’re not announcing the pregnancy until Clarke’s through her first trimester, but they’ve made a few exceptions, most notably her mother, so it’s only fair that they tell Octavia too.

She’s immediately suspicious when Clarke stops her after the lunch briefing and invites her and Lincoln to dinner. She tries to keep it casual, but she’s living on diet of bread and water and Octavia’s noticed. She can only pretend she’s getting the flu for so long before people notice the lack of actual symptoms.

“We never see you outside work,” Clarke insists. “It’s just dinner. Come over around seven.” 

Octavia doesn’t looked convinced but agrees to come, and just after seven, she and Lincoln are on their doorstep with a bottle of dandelion wine in hand

“We’re celebrating tonight, right?” Octavia holds up the bottle of wine. Her face is the picture of innocence, but Clarke knows her too well to believe it. She hopes they make it though dinner before the scheming hits a high point.

For the most part, the meal goes smoothly, even though Octavia raises her eyebrows when Clarke only sips at her wine. Bellamy’s venison and lentil stew is a hit, even if Clarke just pokes at her rice and manages a few bites of bread. Octavia misses nothing and under the table, Clarke takes Bellamy’s hand. She squeezes it to let him know that it’s time. 

Bellamy clears his throat. Twice. “We have some news.”

Lincoln waits patiently, but Octavia’s eyes widen with excitement as she blurts out, “You’re getting married!” just as Bellamy says, “Clarke’s pregnant.” He follows up with a smile and Clarke can’t keep the grin off her own face. It feels good to share happy news, especially when it’s her news.

The most miraculous part isn’t the way Octavia’s mouth drops open in surprise. It’s the rare smile that curves Lincoln’s mouth, slow and full of wonder, and he reaches across the table for Bellamy’s free hand. “Grats, goufa,” he says. _Congratulations on the baby_. 

“Thanks,” Clarke says. “We’re very excited.”

“How did this even happen?” Octavia shakes her head like she’s trying to clear it, and keeps staring at them with wide, confused eyes. 

“You know how these things happen, O.” Bellamy gives his sister a sharp look but like most times, she ignores him. 

“You’re like the two most organized people I know. How – ” 

“Don’t miss a day of tansy tea,” Clarke says tightly. 

Octavia nods, still stunned. “Good advice.” She blinks a few times and then the news finally sinks in. “Oh my god, I’m going to be an aunt!” 

Bellamy lets out a breath. “And she’s back to normal…”

“When are you due? Have you chosen a name? What – ” Lincoln lays a hand on her shoulder and she stops, smiles apologetically. “I’m just so happy for you.”

The conversation turns to more comfortable topics, like the feast on the upcoming Winter Solstice, but when they finish dessert, Octavia’s got that look in her eye again. 

“More cake?” Clarke tries. It’s good cake. Not the chocolate kind that Jasper still craves, but sweetened with honey and dried fruit. Monty is really proud of Agro’s little bakery. 

Octavia smiles deviously and declines. “It’s time for some girl talk.” 

She hauls Clarke to her feet and out the door before anyone can protest. They pull on their jackets as Octavia leads them to a semi-circle of tree stumps. 

“How are you feeling?” Octavia asks. 

“Good,” Clarke responds. She tries to read Octavia’s expression, but her face is impassive. Indra has taught her well. “I’m nauseous in the mornings and eating is a struggle, but I’m otherwise fine. Tired a lot though. It’s way past my bed time.”

“I’m glad it’s been easy so far.” 

Clarke wouldn’t call it easy, but it hasn’t been awful either, so she lets it slide. “What do you really want to talk about?”

“When I asked how you’re feeling, I didn’t mean physically.” 

“Oh.” It’s the first time Clarke’s talked about the pregnancy with someone other than Bellamy, and she’s not sure how to explain. “I’m scared,” she finally says. “I’m really happy but really scared.”

Octavia smiles. “Bellamy told me about the day I was born. He thought my mom was dying, but he got me instead.” She pauses. “Sometimes I think it’s the same thing.”

Clarke could say something comforting and kind, but it’s always been Bellamy’s thing to know the right words to say. She gives Octavia honesty instead. “Maybe in the past, but not anymore. You have Lincoln, your own life. It’s easier now, for both of you.” 

“It is better,” Octavia agrees and a hint of that gleam returns to her eyes. “And now you’re having a baby.”

“I’m still getting used to it. You know, I always thought you’d be first.”

“I did too.”

“What made you change your mind?” She knows what changed hers, but she’s curious what’s holding Octavia back.

“I like my life,” Octavia says quietly. “It was all I dreamed of growing up: having a family and loving them in the open. It was a dream though. I’m not sure I ever thought it would come true.”

“And then you met Lincoln.”

Octavia shakes her head. “And then I came to the ground. My life wasn’t even four walls, Clarke. Just a hole in the floor.” She spreads her arms and tilts her face to the sky. “No matter how well I think I know the earth, it never stops surprising me. There’s so much to learn, so much to explore, and I’m not ready to give that up.”

“I think I am,” Clarke says softly. For all that Octavia longed for the freedom to roam the Ark, Clarke wishes she’d had her family. A Blake’s love can be choking, but it’s loyal. Fierce. True. All the things she never really had. She’s ready to give up one so long as she can have the other. 

“I know,” Octavia says. “I see the way you look at Bellamy, the way he looks at you. When your baby is born, it’s not going to be a curse.” 

A shooting star slips through the sky, and proud, brave Octavia squeals like a child, like that little girl under the floor, and reaches for the stars.

Clarke wraps her arms across her belly and stares up at the sky. It’s a beautiful night, cool but not too cold, with a gentle breeze that brushes her hair back from her face. The air is fresh and crisp, purer than anything she ever breathed on the Ark. She makes a wish, holds it tight. A chance to be free, to be loved – it’s what she wants for the life inside her.

 

* * *

 

Later, when Octavia’s gone home, Clarke slips through the door and sheds her clothes and climbs into bed with Bellamy. Her kitchen is clean, her table cleared, and all traces of dinner packed away. She really is blessed.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad was it?” His voice is rough from sleep.

Clarke just laughs and wraps Bellamy’s arms around her. “She’s happy for us.” 

Bellamy murmurs something into her shoulder and pulls her closer, hands resting on the rise of her stomach. His breathing eases into a deep, even rhythm as he falls asleep, and Clarke follows quickly, her family safe and secure in the cradle of his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was intended to be one chapter has been broken up into many chapters, so while I did intend to update every week, I’ve been able to manage every few days because the chapter got so long. Although, at some point, it might return to my original plan. But long as I have time, I say roll with it. Apologies for how saccharine and fluffy this fic has become, but I can’t stop writing happy characters! I kind of love it. Thank you for the support. Enjoy.


	4. Chapter 4

 

* * *

 

Seven weeks pass and Clarke’s still pregnant. 

On the morning her second semester starts, she wakes up in tears, learns what it means to cry from happiness. There are no guarantees, but most miscarriages occur within the first three months. The hard part is finally over.

Her sniffling wakes up Bellamy and he rolls over, all mussed hair and sleepy eyes. “Clarke?”

“We made it,” she whispers.

“Thirteen weeks?” 

“Thirteen weeks,” she confirms and tugs his hand down to her stomach. It’s well past a bump now, even though she can still hide it under her winter clothes. 

“Hey, baby,” he says. “We can’t wait to meet you.”

Clarke presses her cheek into Bellamy’s shoulder to hide her tears. She can’t wait to meet her child either

 

* * *

 

They’ve spent so long hiding the truth that they can’t agree on how to tell the camp. Bellamy hates big announcements, but Clarke hates gossip. She especially hates people whispering behind her back. It reminds her of when Finn died and she was holding the knife, how her people looked at her with wary, fearful eyes. She won’t go back there again.

“In a few weeks, they’ll figure it out on their own.” Bellamy points out. She can’t fit into any of her clothes, and soon she won’t be able to get her belly under the Council table either.

“I don’t want them talking about me. It undermines my authority. I have to say something.”

Bellamy sighs. “Remember when this was just ours?”

Clarke rests a hand on her belly. “We got lucky.” It’s true – the pregnancy is about the only secret they’ve been able to keep from the camp. She’s the Chancellor and he’s Kane’s second in command – it’s nearly impossible to hide things when all eyes are on them.

“Want me to be there?” 

She shakes her head. “I can handle it.” 

He kisses her goodbye and she takes it with her when she tells the Council. Sharing her news means being put on display and it makes her skin crawl. She hated it on the Ark, when she’d get extra rations or a new dress for her birthday; she’d hated it even more when she’d stepped off the dropship and Bellamy had looked at her, haughty and dismissive and practically shaking with resentment. She’s fought hard to earn her place, to deserve the pin she wears on her lapel. She hates the idea of losing it now.

“I have an announcement,” she says mid-meeting and the conversation stops. It’s a double-session with a team of Grounder representatives and a good opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Across the table, Octavia’s smile is blinding. “I’m pregnant, due next July.”

The Grounders react as expected – lots of widened eyes and slack-jawed mouths – but the Sky People shock her. Abby beams, but the others look wary, unnerved, like she’s sprouted two heads in the course of uttering a few sentences. 

“Will you resign?” The question comes from Art, the Factory chief.

“Will it be too much?” This time it’s Jean, Monty’s boss. 

Clarke blinks, taken aback by their questions. She’d thought they’d be surprised, a bit disapproving given Bellamy’s reputation, but she didn’t think they’d lose faith in her. 

“She’s fine to – ” Abby starts, but Clarke holds up a hand and Abby stops mid-sentence. 

“As far as I can tell, I’m just having a baby,” Clarke says. Her tone leaves no room for argument. “My brain still works fine. I might need some time off at the end of the pregnancy, and for a few weeks after the baby’s born, but that’s why we have a council. I’m not stepping down. Is that clear?”

Jean nods, but Art’s mouth twitches in annoyance. “Whatever you say, Chancellor.” It’s the same tone Murphy used to employ when he was trying to undermine Bellamy, and it’s all Clarke can do not to sigh. It’s almost winter and they need the supplies Art’s team produces. She’ll have to find some way to get him back on her side.

They resume the meeting, but Art glares at her the entire time and she’s pretty sure Jean and several others agree with him; they’re just better at hiding their feelings. When the session breaks, the Grounders are on her immediately. They squeeze her hands and touch her stomach and whisper words of congratulations in Trigedasleng. Her own people huddle and whisper to themselves. 

She ignores the stares and pastes an unassuming on her face. She’d hoped a new life would bring her people together; instead, it’s tearing them apart.

 

* * *

 

Word has spread by late afternoon and Bellamy’s ears are red when Clarke finds him at the bar. 

The weather is growing colder, but twilight is her favorite part of the day. In summer, the light fades in muted shades of orange and red, but the fall is all clash, blue and purple overtaking layers of gold. She’d asked Bellamy to meet her in public rather than rush home. Given the unexpected dissent at the meeting, keeping up a strong front is a good plan.

“People have been shaking my hand all day,” Bellamy hisses as he takes the seat opposite hers. Despite the embarrassment, there’s a proud grin on his face and Clarke swears his chest is puffed out more than usual. Technically she’s doing the work, but she lets him have this moment. It’s no small thing, fathering a child. 

“They’re happy for us.” She’ll tell him about the meeting later, but in public, they can’t be anything but the picture of familial bliss.

Bellamy tentatively takes sip of the moonshine. It had been sent over as congratulations by a group of Tesla workers, and it’s not the best quality, but he doesn’t turn it down. He grimaces. “I think battery acid tastes better.”

“Pace yourself,” Clarke warns. There are four more like it on their table that she hopes he isn’t planning on finishing. She can’t balance his weight, and the baby’s, all the way back to their cabin. Bellamy just smirks and takes another long pull.

Out of the corner of her eye, Raven appears in her line of vision. Her red jacket has long seen better days, but she still wears it, patched and splitting at the seams, a piece of the Ark that she won’t give back. Their relationship has been cordial in the years since Finn’s death, but never what Clarke hoped it would be. She has Octavia and they’re as close as sisters, but it was different with Raven. There was a respect there, a kinship that she’s never felt with anyone else. 

Raven takes a hesitant step forward, pausing and almost turning on her heel, before rolling her shoulders back and walking towards Clarke’s table. “I just wanted to say congratulations.” Her face is blank, but her tone of voice makes it sound like she really means it.

Bellamy puts down his cup and smiles up at her. “Thanks, Reyes.” Raven smiles back and Clarke pushes down the jealousy that knots in her chest whenever she sees them together. She knows it was a one time thing, mutual comfort between two needy people, but Raven and Bellamy have a relationship. They talk to each other, sometimes laugh together; it’s their friendship that she craves. 

But then, Raven turns her smile on Clarke. It’s small, but it’s real and it makes tears well in Clarke’s eyes. She’s gone before Clarke can say anything, and she lets out a surprised laugh as Raven walks away. “Did you see that?” Clarke exclaims to Bellamy. “She spoke to me! She spoke to me about something that had nothing to do with radios!”

“Babies change things,” Bellamy says and takes a pained sip of his moonshine. 

Clarke thinks about how Raven smiled at her. Honest. True. Like how it could have been if Finn hadn’t lied, hadn’t lost his mind, hadn’t broken both their hearts. Like maybe there’s a chance to get all that back. “Yeah,” she says. “They really do.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke gets bigger and bigger. Bigger than she thinks she should be, and she insists on another appointment with Abby. Everything had been fine at the ten weeks mark, but Abby’s forehead knots as she pulls a tape measure over the rising swell of Clarke’s belly.

“Hmmn,” she hums, marks something on her tablet. 

Clarke sits up and exchanges a worried look with Bellamy. “What?”

Abby shakes her head. “I didn’t mean to scare you. The fundal height is a couple centimeters off, but it’s probably nothing. Sometimes the baby’s position can change the shape of the uterus.” She smiles brightly. “I’m serious. Your pelvic exam was normal, as are your vitals. You’re fine.”

“You’re sure?”

Abby lays a hand on Clarke’ stomach. “This is my grandchild,” she says softly. “A part of me, a part of your dad…I won’t risk it for anything.”

“Okay,” Clarke says and blinks back tears. Happy tears. She’s getting used to their constant presence in her life.

“Okay,” Abby says and blinks back tears of her own. This time, she lets them show.

 

* * *

 

Word spreads to Lexa as well and by mid-December, Clarke receives the summons to travel to her headquarters. It’s a day’s journey by horse, and she’s well into her fourth month, but Abby clears her to ride in a wagon. Clarke sighs but agrees; there’s no getting out of the visit. 

She brings a small contingent with her (Bellamy, Monty, her usual guard), and Jackson comes along in case something goes wrong. He smiles apologetically as he climbs in after her, and Clarke is both happy and nervous that he’s there. She wants to believe that she’s in the clear, but his presence reminds her of all the dangers ahead. Even if she carries to term, there’s still the birth; the aftermath; the baby’s first year; the Ice Clan’s rage.

She has the entire ride to think about it and when they arrive at Lexa’s village, she’s practically shaking with anxiety. She shouldn’t have agreed to this. She should in her cabin, resting while Bellamy cooks dinner because she can’t bend down to the stewpot anymore. Instead, she’s in a rumbling wagon miles away from home, surrounded by strangers, risking her life for…her people. She’s always made sacrifices to protect her people, but the baby is hers too. Even more so. She doesn’t want choose.

“You alright?” Bellamy asks as he helps her out of the wagon. “You’re looking pale.”

“That was a long, bumpy trip.”

He rests a hand on her belly. It’s pushing the limits on her winter coat and his hand actually looks small against its swell. “You’re fine. The baby’s fine. Your mom wouldn’t have cleared you to go unless she knew everyone would be okay.” 

Clarke looks at him suspiciously. He’s never gotten along with her mother, but now he’s openly supporting her. It’s…unsettling at best. “What did she say to you?”

“She didn’t say anything. Look, I’m not her biggest fan, but I do know how much she loves you. She loves this baby too. She wouldn’t put either of you in danger.”  
He’s right. Clarke knows few things to be absolutely true – there are thirty-seven freckles dotting the span of Bellamy’s shoulders; the sun rises and sets each day; her mother loves her wholeheartedly – and her worry fades to nervousness. 

“Do you think they’ll make me eat anything weird?” She asks as they walk towards Lexa’s lodge. Since that first feast, she’s been leery of Grounder rituals.

Bellamy laughs. “I’ll try it too.” 

Clarke instantly feels better. No matter what the day has in store, they’ll do it together.

 

* * *

 

They don’t force her to eat a horse’s heart or drink its blood, which makes the rest of the ceremony a lot easier to endure. There’s a feast celebrating the winter solstice at sunset, but the late afternoon hours are spent honoring Clarke. 

They sit her in a high-backed chair and put a wreath of pinecones on her head and wait in a neat line to lay offerings at her feet. Most of them nod at Bellamy too, the Hero of the Mountain, before leaving their presents in a semi-circle around her chair. It’s mostly baby things – clothes, a rattle, toys and games – and finally, as Lexa approaches, an ornately carved cradle.

“A baby is a blessing.” Lexa repeats the Grounder saying Clarke’s heard so many times over the course of the day. 

She gestures for Clarke to rise and she does, clumsily pulls herself out of the chair, and pads to the cradle. It’s made of a sleek, smooth wood that’s glossy to the touch, but it’s the decorative pattern that makes Clarke gasp. There are moons and stars engraved in the wood, a sun and clouds and even something vaguely resembling Go-Sci’s wheel. Her child will be born to the earth, but the Grounders have given it the world of the sky. 

“It’s beautiful,” Clarke whispers, traces the line of stars arcing over the front panel. “Thank you.

Lexa nods. “Life is your gift.”

She flicks her hand and the other Grounders rise, file out of the ceremonial room and into the mess hall. The feast is laid out and Clarke takes her usual seat to Lexa’s right; Bellamy sits on her other side. There’s bread and vegetables and even cheese, which makes it easy, for once, to forgo meat. She sips her water and spreads jam on a roll and bites into her makeshift sandwich, the cheese buttery and rich on her tongue.

“We need to work on our churning skills,” she tells Bellamy. 

He takes a hearty bite of venison. “I think this was braised in wine. When we renegotiate the alliance, can we make their cooks part of the deal?”

Clarke laughs. “I wish. We’ll be lucky if we don’t get food poisoning again.” They both shudder at the memory of four hundred people losing fluids from both ends after ingesting a particularly rancid boar flank. No one had eaten meat for weeks after that.

Bellamy turns back to his food, but Clarke finds it hard to concentrate. The Grounders won’t stop gaping at her; with each bite she takes, another pair of eyes locks on her face. If she thought the attention would be bad amongst her own people, it’s excruciating amongst a former enemy.

Lincoln, on the opposite side of the table, sees her squirming in her seat. “They honor you.”

Clarke frowns. “I’m just having a baby. Women do it every day.” It’s a bit of an overstatement, but her sentiment is still accurate – of all her accomplishments, the pregnancy is just another thing about her. 

Lincoln shakes his head. “Our warriors fight. They protect our people.” He gestures at the men filling the room. Each one is bigger than the next, and they’re watching her closely. “But they can’t bring life into this world.” He smiles at her. “Life is your gift, Clarke. They stare because you can’t see that.”

It’s that word again – gift – and Clarke doesn’t completely agree but it helps her understand. Bellamy can wield a sword or a gun, lead an army and inspire troops. He would slay a dragon if she asked, or it threatened his people. But he can’t carry a life inside him. He can’t bring the next generation into being.

“It’s not my only gift, right?” She might understand, revel some in the power it brings her, but she’s not ready to let it define her. She’s more than just an incubator.

“You are a strong _heda_ ,” Lincoln agrees. “You will make a good mother. Your child will learn well from your example.”

He turns to Octavia, deep in conversation with Kyla, and Clarke leans back in her seat, one hand splayed over her stomach. Bellamy’s hand joins hers, as it so often does, and their fingers twine over the swell of their baby. Clarke doesn’t know what kind of parents they’ll make, what examples they’ll set, but she knows they’ll be better. Different. Once they were a traitor and murderer, but now they’re heroes. Leaders. They won’t repeat the mistakes of their pasts.

 

* * *

 

The ride home is rainy and bumpy and Clarke spends most of it puking into a bucket while Bellamy strokes sweaty hair back from her face.

“If we do this again, you’re carrying the kid,” she mutters to him.

He just laughs at her and massages his thumbs into her temples. “It’s your gift, Princess. I’m just the stallion for hire.” 

She would laugh at his joke if not for the burning nausea working its way up her throat. She reaches desperately for the bucket.

“Does that make me the brood mare?” she asks when she can speak again, when her eyes aren’t watering and her mouth doesn’t taste like something died inside it. 

Bellamy brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. Her head is in his lap, and she might be Chancellor Griffin, mighty ruler and _Heda_ of the Sky People, but right now she’s just a woman struggling not to vomit all over one of her generals. 

“You’re the mother of my child,” he tells her softly, bends down to press a tender kiss to her forehead. “Now sleep. You need your rest.”

She closes her eyes, lets the rolling rhythm of the wagon lull her into sleep. She won’t always be chancellor, or lead her people, but she’ll always be a woman. Bellamy’s partner. Someone’s mother. If she loses everything else, it will be enough.

 

* * *

 

A month after the visit to Lexa’s camp, Clarke and Bellamy are back in the med-bay for another check up with Abby. Clarke’s at nineteen weeks and starting to resemble the snowmen the smallest Sky People build every winter. Her face is puffy, her back aches, Bellamy’s clothes are increasingly tight on her, and she looks like she stuffed the entire bakery’s worth of bread under her sweater. It’s uncomfortable to say the least, but also makes her worried that something is wrong. The symptoms just don’t add up.

“Everything okay?” Clarke asks as Abby drags the tape measure down her stomach. She tries to see how many centimeters her belly has risen, but it’s nearly impossible from her prone position. “Bellamy, what does it say?”

He starts to get up but Abby waves for him to sit down and he listens. Again, it makes Clarke nervous, but she tries not to question it. She might never see her mom and Bellamy get along again. 

“Give me a second,” Abby says and records the measurement in her tablet. She rifles through her medical bag and pulls out a small wooden horn. “Your fundal height is over 30 centimeters,” she says. “I want to try something. Okay?”

Clarke stares at her with wide eyes. She could just be having a very big baby, but given their diet, it’s unlikely. “Something’s wrong– ” she starts but Abby lays the cone shaped part of the horn over her abdomen. “Mom, what are you doing?” 

Abby doesn’t answer, just moves the horn across Clarke’s bare belly until she finds what she’s looking for, then presses her ear to the flat end. Clarke watches silently, and Bellamy bravely gets out of his chair to see what’s happening. Abby holds the horn in place for a minute or so, then moves it to the other side of Clarke’s belly. She slides it back and forth again, then holds it in one particular spot. When she pulls away, she quietly puts the horn back in her bag.

“Mom?” Clarke’s voice is frantic with fear.

“Twins,” Abby says. “There’s nothing wrong with your baby. There’s just two of them.”

Bellamy drops back into his chair. “Are you sure?”

“I can hear two distinct heartbeats.”

“Maybe one’s Clarke’s.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

They stare at each other in disbelief, her mother and her lover, former enemies slowly becoming allies, but Clarke falls back on the exam table in relief. Her baby’s fine. Her _babies_ are fine. It’s a shock, and yet…she bursts out laughing.

In unison, Abby and Bellamy turn dazed eyes on her. “What’s so funny?” Bellamy asks.

Clarke wants to comfort him. Twins mean a high-risk pregnancy, a harder birth, and a greater chance that something will go wrong. But it also means two for the price of one; there are no rules about childbearing on the ground.

“You’re the only person in Ark history to have a sibling,” Clarke says. “Of course your firstborn would come with a built-in brother or sister.”

“You’re not worried?” He comes over to stare intently at her enlarged stomach. It’s still just a bump, and she hasn’t felt the baby – babies – move yet, but she likes the idea of them in there together. Supporting one another. Keeping each other safe.

She sticks out her hand for him to shake. “We got this, right?”

Bellamy lets out an uneven breath but reaches for her hand. He takes it, lowers their interwoven fingers to rest over her belly button. He makes his promise to their babies as much as he does to her. “Yeah, we got this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the risk of being a total dork, I like to include references to other fandoms I adore in my fics; this chapter has shout-outs to both “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” and “Song of Ice and Fire." And for the medical fans among us, the fundal height, which is mentioned several times in this chapter, is the measurement between the top of a pregnant woman's uterus to her pubic bone. Each centimeter roughly correlates to a week of gestational time and is method of guesstimating the length of a pregnancy. As always thank you for the support for this fic. It’s still pretty fluffy but starting to tackle some of the bigger themes that will shape the rest of the story. Enjoy.


	5. Chapter 5

 

* * *

 

The days grow shorter and the nights grow colder and Bellamy grows more irritable. Winter is hard for him. All that time spent indoors, the seemingly endless hours of darkness – it’s like Mount Weather all over again. Too often he wakes sweating and shaking with shadows in his eyes. Clarke can do little more than hold him.

She doesn’t know exactly what happened in Mount Weather, but she knows that it changed him. He came back quieter, more on edge, and being cooped up all winter doesn’t help. 

He disappeared not long after the war ended. One day he was there, and the next, she went to his tent to discuss guard rotations and found him gone. He left without warning, took his rifle and a fur cloak and disappeared into the forest. He came back three days later with wind-burned cheeks and a scratch along his neck and a week’s worth of rabbit meat. They’d been killed by arrows, even though he had no bow, but she didn’t ask about it. They were barely friends then, still working their way back to each other after the mountain. After Cage. After Clarke told him his life was worth risking. But she was so happy to see him alive, that he came back at all, that she just threw her arms around him and kissed him. 

It was a quick kiss, all relief and joy, and when she pulled back, he smiled at her. “Good to see you too, Princess,” he said. It was the first joke between them – a start. They didn’t mention it in the following days, but he did begin talking to her again, and not just small talk. He worried about Octavia. He reminisced about his mom. He complained about how hard Kane was on him. And then, one day, at the start of spring, she kissed him in a field of crocuses, right in the middle of rant about graveyard shifts on the fence. She kissed him because the flowers were pretty and the sun was shining and because she felt so close to him, the real him. To her surprise and delight, he kissed her back.

The next year, he asked her to come with him and she said yes, even though elections were approaching and her biggest competition was her mother. Bellamy was letting her in; she couldn’t say no.

They loaded packs and trekked through the snow, passed barren trees and shivered under a grey, wintery sky, before stopping at a tiny cabin unlike the ones in Camp Jaha. It was cruder, little more than a fire pit and packed earth floor, but Clarke could feel Bellamy between its walls. His bow was perched by the door and a pile of furs along the far wall made up the bed. When they stepped inside, their breathing was the only sound. 

Clarke unpacked the rations while Bellamy built a fire, the quiet interrupted every now and then by an owl’s lonely call. She understood why he liked this place. It was solitary. Alone. Without the needs and wants of four hundred other people. Here, he could be free.

He kissed her then, with the fire blazing, and slowly lowered them onto the pile of furs. She lost herself a bit in the burn of his hands and the heat of the fire and all that soft, cool fur on her bare skin. “I love you,” he said right before he pressed inside her, eyes impressively focused even with the pupils blown out. 

“I love you too,” she whispered, her heart swelling in her chest: this place, this man, all the things he made her feel. 

The next morning, he taught her how to use the bow, to skin her kill, to build a fire without a match. They spent long hours outdoors, until their cheeks were red from cold and wind, then burrowed under the furs again. Bellamy was warmer than any fire, all hot, bare skin sliding over hers. 

On the third day, she packed the meat while he doused the fire, felt something catch in her throat as he put away the bow and firmly shut the door. It was a sunny day and all that light reflecting off the snow hurt her eyes. 

“I want to stay,” she said as he wrapped his arms around her from behind. 

“You have the election.”

“I don’t care,” she responded and in that moment she really didn’t. She was tired of running things; she was tired of carrying all that weight.

He let her have that moment, two people watching prisms of light scatter across the snow, before he’d taken her hand and tugged her along. “We can’t hide forever,” he said. “We can’t forget who we are.”

She wanted to say that they were Clarke and Bellamy, just girl and a boy, but she knew better. She was a leader – Clarke of the Sky People – and she’d never forgive herself if she gave up now. She took a long look at the little house, the rough pine walls and thin tendrils of smoke curling into the grey sky, and tucked it away for another day. She’s learned well that even when she loses everything else, her memories are her own.

The camp was frantic when they walked through the gates, her mother especially, and Monty was furious about the campaign duties that she’d skipped, although it didn’t matter in the end. She hadn’t sent a hundred teenagers to their deaths; she hadn’t hemmed and hawed while those same kids were being tortured inside a mountain; she hadn’t done everything in her power to undermine the alliance. Clarke's people have long memories, and even without mentioning her mother’s choices, the election was easily hers. A year later, she left the camp in Octavia and Sinclair’s capable hands and took off with Bellamy for another sojourn in the woods. He hasn’t mentioned it, but Clarke knows he’s itching to go, but won’t leave without her. At twenty-two weeks, she’s nearly the size of a full-term single pregnancy, and taking this trip is out of the question. 

She watches him closely. He paces. He chops enough firewood to keep them warm through two winters. He gets up early to run laps around the camp. He mutters in his sleep, wakes up flailing wildly amongst their sheets. One night, he smacks her in the jaw, scurries away to stare at her with horrified eyes.

“Bell, it was an accident,” she says, holds him as best she can while he shakes in her arms. He spends the rest of the night on the floor, wrapped in his bedroll, while she watches him tremble in the firelight.

The next morning, he wakes to find his pack ready to go. “What’s this?” he asks as he gingerly pulls a shirt over his head.

“You’re going to the cottage today.” 

“No way. I’m not leaving you. I’ll – ”

“Have more nightmares? Drive yourself insane?”

She awkwardly pushes to her feet and pads over to him. “You need this time, Bell. I wish I could go, but I can’t. I know you want to be here. It’s enough.” 

“If anything happens –”

“I have my mother and Jackson and your sister and fifty other people who’ll help.”

“Okay,” he says suddenly, and Clarke doesn’t like the devious glint in his eyes.

“Bell…” she warns.

“Give me ten minutes,” he says and shrugs into his jacket as he hurries out the door.

While he’s gone, she makes the bed and puts away his clothes and clears the table, but isn’t sure how she’ll wash the dishes. If she bends down, will she be able to get back up again?

“Stop right there!” Octavia calls out and hurries into the room to take the plates from her. “Not going to happen.”

Clarke slowly straightens and turns to find Bellamy standing in the doorway, a pack at his feet. Lincoln is standing behind him, a similar pack on his back, and there’s a third bundle near the bed and…

“Are we having a sleepover?”

“O’s going to stay with you while I’m gone,” Bellamy says.

Clarke had been looking forward to a weekend alone, but she knows better than to complain. Bellamy would insist on staying, Octavia’s feelings would be hurt, Lincoln’s stare would be more unnerving than usual. “Great,” she manages to say. “A girl’s weekend sounds perfect.”

Bellamy comes over and gives her a goodbye kiss. “I love you,” he whispers against her mouth.

“I love you too.”

“Good. Stop lifting things.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Octavia chirps and pulls away from saying goodbye to Lincoln. “You boys behave,” she adds as they strap on their packs and snowshoes. “Don’t embarrass us.”

The men grumble to themselves as they head out and Clarke leans against the doorjamb to watch them go. Lincoln’s never participated in one of these trips before, and she’s not sure it’s a good idea. Bellamy goes to the woods for solace, not company. 

“Are you sure one of them won’t come back in a body bag?”

Octavia laughs. “It’ll be fine. They’ll do that thing where they don’t speak but have an entire conversation by glaring at each other.” She tugs on Clarke’s wrist. “It’s freezing. You need to get inside.”

Clarke lets Octavia lead her to the bed and tuck her between the covers, watches her pseudo-sister-in-law bounce around the cabin: making tea, finishing the dishes, putting a potato and venison hash to bake over the fire. Clarke leans back on her pillows and closes her eyes. It’s nice having people to rely on; it’s even better calling them family.

 

* * *

 

“Try these on.” 

Clarke looks up from the recon report she’s been reading to see Octavia holding up a pair of pants. They’re a pair of navy cargoes, frayed at the hem, but otherwise in good shape. The major change is a wide piece of stretchy fabric that Octavia’s added to the waistband. 

Clarke eagerly takes off her pants. They stopped fitting weeks ago and while the twine is technically holding them together, it’s not particularly comfortable. These pants are different. The fabric cups her belly and carries most of its weight, allowing her to actually zip – zip! – her pants. “Octavia, what did you do?”

“One of the foraging parties owed me a favor.” She turns and surveys her handiwork, a small smile on her face. “They fit?”

Clarke closes her eyes in bliss. “They’re sublime.”

“I can add a different fly,” Octavia adds. Nearly all their homemade pants have buttons, because they’re easy to make and replace and never get jammed.

“Are you kidding? I go to the bathroom like five times an hour. This is so much better!”

“I guess I’ll have to make more.”

“Think you can manage a bra too?” Clarke’s has long since stopped fitting and she’s gotten by with a makeshift cotton band, but it would be nice to have real support.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

They turn back to their work, but Clarke struggles to concentrate. She’s mesmerized by the flash of Octavia’s needle, the quick movements of her hands. It gives her a peek into Bellamy’s life before the ground, the life that shaped him long before she knew him. “You learned to sew from your mom, right?”

Octavia looks up from adding the elastic band to a pair of stretchy black wool pants. “She was the best seamstress on the Ark.”

“I think she made my dress for my sweet sixteen. I remember my mom mentioning something about the seamstress’s son being in the guard.”

“Training to be in the guard, but yeah, that would have been Bell.”

“She’d be proud of you.” Clarke never met Aurora Blake, but she often feels like she knows her; she does dominate her children’s lives even from beyond the grave.

Octavia’s quiet a long moment. “She had this saying, that fear is a demon. Every time I had to go in the hole, I’d close my eyes and tell myself that I wasn’t afraid. It was the only way to slay the demon.” 

Clarke shivers from the memory of a little girl with a knife saying those same words. “I’ve heard it before.”

“I got caught and I’m still here.” Octavia’s eyes are brilliant and blue and pulsing with life. “I’m not afraid anymore.”

Clarke thought she’d die in space, floating into nothingness the day she turned eighteen, but she’s still here. She’s buried people that she loved, but she’s still here. She let herself fall in love again, and she’s still here. She reaches across the table to clasp Octavia’s hand, part of the family she never thought she’d have. “Neither am I.”

 

* * *

 

That night, they lie side by side in Clarke’s bed making shadow puppets on the wall. She makes a fox but then, during Octavia’s turn, something kicks from deep within her.

She’s felt the babies move before. It had been like Octavia’s butterflies in her belly, delicate and light, and she’d thought Bellamy might cry when he pressed frantic hands over her stomach and came up empty. 

“It’s too soon,” she’d tried to explain to him. “Wait a few weeks and you’ll feel it too.” He’d pouted at her and then she’d kissed him because he looked so dejected and let him spend another half hour groping her belly.

It’s different this time. It doesn’t feel like fluttering, but a sharp poke, like someone’s jabbed a very small elbow into her stomach. She gasps loudly and Octavia looks at her skeptically. “It’s just a two-headed deer, Clarke. No need to freak out.”

Clarke ignores her comment, grabs her hand and presses it to the side of her belly. “The babies moved!”

Octavia drops her free hand, now a normal looking deer, and flattens her palm just as a foot(?) kicks. “This is so weird,” Octavia says but she doesn’t drop her hands; she slides them back and forth, looking for movement. Her eyes are wide as saucers. “Cool, but weird.”

“Think how I feel. It’s happening _inside_ me.” It happens again, the second baby wanting attention too, and then it happens in unison, both her babies moving together. Tears spring to her eyes and Octavia’s smile is watery. “It’s real,” Clarke whispers. She isn’t just getting fat or overworking herself. She’s having a baby, _two_ babies, and the evidence is drumming an irregular beat inside her body. 

They stay a while, four hands splayed over the bump of Clarke’s abdomen, until the babies get bored or tired or whatever it is they do all day long, and Octavia’s hands slip away. She doesn’t move though, curls up on her side next to Clarke. “Bell’s going to be so thrilled.”

“I wish he was here.” 

Octavia doesn’t try to deny it, Clarke’s disappointment that the father of her children wasn’t there the first time they kicked, but she does offer words of comfort. “Think how excited he’ll be when you tell him. He puts up a tough front, but he’s such a dork. When I lost my first tooth, he threw a party. A party for three to celebrate a milk tooth.” Octavia rubs Clarke’s belly. “Imagine what he’ll do for his family.”

“You’re his family.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same. 

“Octavia – ”

“I don’t need it to be. I don’t want to be the center of his world anymore. I want that to be you. And the babies…I still can’t believe that you’re having twins.” 

“My neither, but then I can’t fit another shirt over my boobs and there’s no other explanation.” She frowns just thinking about the changes to her body.

Octavia laughs but there’s a hollow note to it, and it confirms Clarke’s suspicions that there’s more to this weekend than Bellamy wanting a babysitter for her. “How are things with Lincoln?” 

“That’s a hard question to answer,” Octavia says. She sounds exhausted and overwhelmed and under the covers, Clarke squeezes Octavia’s knee. She doesn’t know if she can help, but she wants her to know that she’s there. “Things with us are fine, but he seems off.”

“Off how?”

“Like he might start using again.”

“That’s not possible.” When they’d taken Mount Weather, they’d been sure to destroy all “the red” as well.

“He found some syringes last week during a patrol in the tunnels. He claims he destroyed them, but…you know him, Clarke. It kills him that he can’t say no.”

“So you sent him off with Bellamy?” She clearly remembers the last time the two of them went on a mission together. 

“Bell thinks the time away will help, get his head on straight. You’ve been up there. What’s it like?”

Clarke smiles just from thinking of the cottage. It’s a shack really but more of a home than any place she’s lived. She shifts to her side to get more comfortable. She loves her cabin and the life she and Bellamy have here, but she likes the simplicity of the woods better. She likes opening the front door and never seeing another human for miles. She loves that it’s just about them. “It helps you remember, and then it helps you forget.” 

Even in the dim light, she can see the skepticism on Octavia’s face. “Are you sure you’re not on drugs?”

Clarke laughs. “It’s so easy there, nothing but woods and sky. There’s a lake too. It helps you remember the important things. I never feel closer to Bell than when I’m there.”

“But…”

“It’s perfect because it can’t be sustained. You can’t hide in the woods forever because then it stops being real, but for a few days, it helps you forget.” 

“You think it will fix him?”

“I think it will give him the room to remember what’s important.” 

She presses her face into Clarke’s neck and Clarke tentatively strokes her hair. She’s never done this before, and it takes her a little while to get the right rhythm. Octavia’s breathing slows and her limbs loosen and Clarke lets her own eyes close so she can drift into sleep.

She cradles her belly, dreams of Bellamy asleep beside her. She already knows what’s important.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy comes home three days later covered in a thick layer of grime, but lighter still. Clarke’s tempted to ask about the weekend, but the shadows are gone from his eyes and his bright, brilliant smile is answer enough. 

She waits in the bath and his eyes darken, then narrow, as he remembers the effort it takes to fill the tub.

“Please tell me that you didn’t do that yourself.” He drops his pack by the door and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Octavia did the heavy lifting. I just added the stones to keep the water hot.” She points the grate; the stones weigh next to nothing and she used tong. It was barely any strain.

“You promise?” His fingers are toying with the zipper on his jacket.

She licks her lips intentionally. “I promise.”

He strips quickly, and in atypical fashion, leaves his clothes in a pile on the floor. He must have really missed her. She scoots forward so he can climb in behind her, then rests her head on his chest. She tells him about Octavia’s visit while he soaps up, intentionally leaving out the most important part. 

Slick, sinewy arms wrap around her and she sighs. “I missed you,” Bellamy says.

He kisses her neck, slides his hands over the bump of her belly to her breasts. They are enormous, but with the soreness gone and her hormones all over the place, she finally understands what the big deal is all about. 

“I felt the babies move,” she says to see if he’s paying attention. 

He kind of mewls and his hands drop to the water with a splash. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.” His wet hands slide over her belly, poking and prodding without any luck. “I think our kids hate me.”

“I think we should take advantage of the free time.” He looks at her in surprise, but doesn’t turn down the opportunity. Sex is different now. More special. Sacred. They understand what it can lead to. 

It’s more complicated as well; there are a lot of positions that just don’t work any more. Clarke appreciates it, because it means Bellamy gets to practice his skills with fingers and tongue, but she misses the way it felt when he was a part of her.

He gathers her in his arms and hauls her to the bed, watches her roll to her side. “You’re sure?”

“Bellamy, I swear if you don’t get in this bed right now…”

He laughs, and slides behind her, all wet, sleek skin. She arches against him and he stops laughing. Neither of them complain.

Later, sleepy and sated, the babies move again. It’s Bellamy who notices first when one of them jabs at his forearm. “Clarke! Clarke!” His hands press tight over her belly.

“Amazing, right?” 

He kisses the curve of her shoulder. “I’m really happy to be home.”

Clarke thinks of the cottage, their utopia in the woods, and for the first time it doesn’t feel like home. Home is here, with Bellamy and her babies. Home is where ever they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve mentioned before that I have a herniated disk in my back. It _was_ on the mend, but that was then and this is now, and long story short: I’m likely going to have surgery. Which is good news for all of you, because I’m in agonizing, Raven-Reyes-Having-Surgery-With-No-Anesthesia-style pain, and can’t do much but lie on my couch. Which means I have a lot of free time to write. It’s terrible news for me, because I miss, you know, _having a life_ , but that’s my cross to bear. So without further ado, an update! The same night a new episode airs! Thank you for the continued support. Enjoy.


	6. Chapter 6

 

* * *

 

Time moves forward and life gets harder. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally.

The babies move constantly, particularly when Clarke’s trying to sleep. Or drinks water with berries. The sweetness seems to make them dance. But it’s hard to get out of a chair. Or dress herself, especially since she can no longer see her feet.

Bellamy laughs as he ties her laces. “How are the new boots working out?”

Clarke sighs as she peers down at him. “Art gave me such a dirty look. He thinks I’m abusing my power to get better shoes.”

“It’s not your fault that your feet swelled. Did he expect you to go barefoot all winter?”

“He’s looking for any reason to get me out of office. He was a big supporter of my mom’s. They think I’m too young to be chancellor.”

She’s barely twenty-two and running what’s essentially a small country. Three years ago, she would have agreed with Art, but he wasn’t sent to the ground to die. He didn’t give the order to burn three hundred warriors alive. He never killed anyone that he loved. She might look like a kid, but there are deep wounds buried under all that golden hair and bright blue eyes. There are scars most of the Sky People can’t see.

She knows Bellamy feels the same way. They’ve talked about it many times, in the early days of their slowly healing friendship, and when they got together, and especially after she became chancellor. He'd tried to kill the last one and many members of the camp were uneasy seeing him walking freely with a rifle in hand. They were annoyed when Kane promoted him; angry that she trusted him. It’s only gotten worse since they announced that they’re having babies together.

“You are too young, but you’re the right choice.” Bellamy grabs her hands and pulls her up. “You’ll always have my vote.”

“It’s the only one that matters.” She smiles, and with his help, slips into her coat. She can’t button it anymore, but Octavia’s devised some kind of toggle-system that keeps it together. It’s not perfect, but nothing is these days. 

He takes her elbow and walks her to the council room. Art watches as she waddles in, a deep frown carved into face. Clarke rests a hand on her belly and stares him down. She prepares to fight for what’s hers.

 

* * *

 

Outwardly, the meeting is normal. Each station chief gives a short summary of what’s happening in his or her department; the council votes on bills; Murphy reads a list of complaints and they come up with solutions. 

But there’s a chord of tension simmering under the surface that intensifies when Clarke rubs her belly. The babies are moving more frequently, sometimes twenty times an hour, and she likes to think the motion soothes them. Or at least lets them know that she’s there, that she cares. 

“We have one last point of discussion,” Art says. He’s gloating and not even trying to hide it.

They’re about to break for the day and Clarke’s desperate for a bathroom visit, but she nods and smiles tightly. “Of course.” 

“When will you be taking your leave?”

Clarke resists the urge to roll her eyes. Art’s probably been counting the days until he could ask his question. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be working as long my health permits.” 

Art’s scowl deepens. “Are we sure that’s a good idea? The Ice Clans are still a threat. We need a strong leader to keep them at bay.”

It’s not something Clarke likes to discuss, the long days she spent on the ground before the “adults” arrived, but sometimes…they need to be reminded of what she endured, the lessons she was forced to learn. “You came here by choice,” she says quietly. “I was sent here to die, and it wasn’t by some miracle that I lived. It was because I fought, every day, to survive. You might think I’m a kid, but I won this job fair and square, and I take it seriously.” She struggles to her feet and shrugs off her mother's attempt at helping. “My term ends in two years. You’ll have to deal with me until then.”

She holds her head high as she waddles out and takes slow, mincing steps all the way home. She’s sure they’re talking about her in the council room, but she lacks the energy to care. She’s tired of proving herself all day, every day. She’s carrying two lives inside her, the weight of four hundred more on her shoulders. She doesn’t understand why they want more.

Surprisingly, Bellamy’s there when Clarke comes in. Their cabin isn’t large, but it’s big enough for a nursery, and they’ve quartered off part of the main room for the babies. 

He’s testing out a spot for the cradle, moving it in various angles across the floor. “I don’t know where we’re going to fit the second one,” he says, then hurries over to help her out of her coat. 

“We’ll figure it out,” she says lightly, but he doesn’t miss the exhaustion in her voice. She’s tired all the time, but this is different. This is the kind of fatigue for which there’s no cure.

“What’s wrong?”

“Art again. He actually said he wants me to step down.” She collapses into a chair and Bellamy kneels at her feet to start on her boots. 

“Would you?”

Clarke glances at him sharply. She can’t remember the last time he wasn’t on her side. “You think I should give up my job?”

He slowly lets go of her left boot. “I think you shouldn’t push yourself. This pregnancy is already high-risk.” His lower lip trembles a bit and he takes a deep, but shaky breath. “I…nothing can happen to you, okay?” 

She gets where he’s coming from. She worries about the babies too. They’re inside her, _alive_ because of her, and hard as he tries, he can’t understand. She worries about every bite of food she eats, every step she takes, every time she gets out of bed and feels light on her feet. If she falls, if she takes a corner too sharply, if someone brushes by a little too fast…he doesn’t know what it’s like to be afraid every minute of the day. 

“You don’t understand,” she says. “If anything happens, it’s on me. It’s because my body failed, or I did something wrong, and it doesn’t actually matter because it will always be my fault. So don’t accuse me of being careless. Keeping these babies safe? It’s all I think about.” She pauses, blinks back tears. “It’s the only thing I think about.”

Her head drops as the tears fall down her cheeks and Bellamy cups her face in his hands, wipes away the tears with his thumbs. “It’s all I think about too,” he says, voice husky with emotion. “If I could carry them I would, but I don’t have the right equipment. It’s not that I don’t believe in you. It’s that I wish you didn’t have to do it alone.”

She looks up into his handsome face and it’s not her Bellamy that she sees there, but a scared boy with a little sister that lived under the floor. She had been his burden, his responsibility, and in the end he’d been helpless to keep her safe. He’s a man now, and the rules of the Ark are long gone, but Clarke sees the same fears in his eyes: that he’ll lose his family, his heart, and he’ll be alone again. He’s the strongest person she knows and yet…she’s not sure he could survive that. Not really. Not lose them and still be whole. 

When she kisses him, she can taste his tears on her tongue. “You’re here,” she says softly. “You listen. You care. You love us. If you can do those things, I’ll do the rest.”

“That doesn’t sound fair.”

“You can be in charge of diaper duty. Does that even the scales?” 

He laughs against her cheek. “You promise to stop the moment it’s too much?”

She runs her fingers through his hair with one hand, rests the other on the swell of their babies. “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

Abby frowns as she palpates Clarke’s abdomen. 

She’s just started her sixth month and starting to feel like an end is in sight. Her belly used to jut from her torso like an enormous ball, but now it hangs low, like fruit ready to fall. She’s mostly impressed by her stomach muscles and terrified for what her body will look like when the twins give up their residence inside it. 

“What now?” Clarke asks. If she finds out it’s triplets, she might actually lose her mind. She looks absently for Bellamy but, to his chagrin, he’s sitting out this appointment. There are extra training exercises today and while Kane probably would have let him skip, they don’t want him playing favorites. The last thing Clarke needs is Art adding more ammo to his arsenal.

“You’re carrying low and the babies are pressing on your cervix. It could lead to early labor.” Abby takes a breath for courage. “I’m putting you on bed rest.”

“Okay,” Clarke says quickly. Probably too quickly.

“I expected more of a fight.” Abby’s forehead crinkles as she helps her sit up.

“Bellamy and I already discussed it. The babies’ health comes first.” 

Abby smiles. “Good.” She gives her daughter a moment to let the news sink in.

Clarke knew bed rest would happen eventually, as it often does with multiples, but there hadn’t been time to think about it what it would entail. The Ark’s narrow passageways are a distant memory. She’s spent three years with rain on her face and fresh air in her lungs. Her skin prickles at the thought of three months in a stuffy cabin. “What exactly does bed rest mean?” Her rising panic makes the question almost unintelligible. 

“Clarke, I need you to relax.” Abby holds her daughter’s wrists and rubs slow circles over her pulse. “Your heart is racing.”

Clarke watches her mother with wide eyes, forces her breathing into a slow, even rhythm. She won’t be the only one suffering if her blood pressure spikes.

“Better?” 

Clarke nods, feels some of the heat leave her cheeks. “Lay it on me.” She takes a deep breath as she braces for the full impact.

“We’re going to start with a modified plan. You’ll be in bed, preferably on your side, with select times you can leave the house.” Clarke lets out that breath. “But if anything changes, you only leave the bed to use the bathroom. We’ll take it day by day.”

It’s Clarke’s turn to smile. It’s shaky, as is her heartbeat, but it’s real. “Thanks, Mom.” She wants to hug her, wrap her arms around her mother and bury her face in her shoulder like she did countless times on the Ark. She can’t, for obvious reasons, but she’s also not quite able to forgive her. She settles for taking Abby’s hand and squeezing. The joy in her mom’s eyes is enough for now.

 

* * *

 

She’s crying when Bellamy comes in. He’s seen it before, increasingly often, but she’s never been ashamed to tell him why.

After the appointment with her mom, Clarke had come home and made a list of all the things that would be changing. She wouldn’t be able to go on her regular rounds, or randomly inspect each station, or pop in on workers to survey their progress. She wouldn’t be one of the people, but an invisible presence ruling in isolation. After the Ark, after Jaha’s betrayal, after her father’s sacrifice, she vowed to be different. She would be open with her people, honest and trustworthy. She doesn’t share the alliance’s plans for the Ice Clans, but they know of the threat. They know they can trust her to keep them safe. She’s not sure how she can protect them when she’s confined to her bed. 

Bellamy finds her lying in the bed, hugging his pillow, with tears streaming down her face. The tears are more from frustration than anything else, because the situation is what it is, and there isn’t an alternate solution. She can’t go for a run, or take her feelings out on Octavia’s heavy bag. She can’t do anything but listen to her mother and wait it out.

“I’ll kick his ass,” Bellamy says after he’s kicked off his boots and slipped out of his jacket and crawled into bed with her in his underwear. He can’t get his arm around her, so he settles for rubbing her back, slow, smooth circles that calm her hysteria.

“It wasn’t Art,” she sniffles. “My mom put me on bed rest.” She pauses, wipes her nose on her sleeve. “Dammit. This is what he wanted.”

“You knew this was going to happen.” He presses a kiss to the back of her neck.

“I don’t regret it. I made that promise because I meant it, because I’d do anything to keep the babies safe. It just…it sucks…I’m the chancellor. I should be with my people, not stuck in here.”

“What was it you said, _"‘You might be the chancellor, but I’m in charge_?’” Clarke laughs at the memory. Bellamy wasn’t there, but he’s heard the story countless times. They all have. At this point, it’s practically legend. “It doesn’t matter what title you hold. You will always be the most important voice in this camp.”

She dries the rest of her tears on the pillow. “You’re always the loudest.” 

“Just hoping someone will hear me.”

“Three months,” Clarke sighs. Three months and she’ll have breathing, squirming babies, but at least her body will be her own again. 

“Three months,” Bellamy whispers into the curve of her shoulder and she shucks off the dirty shirt, finds a better way to occupy her time.

She waited those long days to bring her people back from the mountain, to bring Bellamy home. She can wait this out too.

 

* * *

 

Boredom sets in. With the shorter days come shorter meetings; some days, Clarke’s stuck in bed almost twenty-two hours.

She reviews reports, writes orders for her deputies, reads one of Bellamy’s history books about the Peloponnesian War. The last one is a terrific cure for insomnia; it even puts the babies to sleep. 

“Nothing wrong with knowing where you come from,” Bellamy had sniffed.

“Uh huh. Read to me about the Invasion of Thrace again.” Within minutes, she’d been out like a light.

A few days later, she looks at him warily as he hands her a box. “I think this will help.”

“It’s not The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, right?”

“Just open it.” His expression is impassive, but he’s watching her very closely, and Clarke prepares an enthusiastic response. Whatever it is, he’s nervous about her reaction.

She doesn’t have to pretend. It’s a paint set, neat clay pots containing every color of the rainbow and more. There are horsehair brushes. A palette. Ticonderoga pencils. A bound book filled with drawing paper. “Bellamy,” she breathes, her smile widening when he ducks his head to hide his red cheeks.

“You like it?”

“I love it.” She picks up the book, eager to plan her first painting, only to discover that the pages aren’t empty. They’re covered in writing, pages filled with the myths that Bellamy loves.

“Bell, what is this?”

He smiles shyly as he sits beside her on the bed. “It’s a book for the twins. I wrote the stories, but I thought you could do the illustrations. That way it’s from both of us.”

Clarke nods, blinks back tears. They’re a regular part of her life, but in this case, she thinks they’d fall even without the rush of hormones. It’s sweet and thoughtful, shows her babies the kind of man they have for a father. 

She works on it like a fiend, reading stories and sketching accompanying illustrations, filling them in with the paint. Bellamy scolds her for getting paint on the sheets, but she only laughs, flicks a loaded paintbrush in his direction, and his eyes turn nearly black when she asks if she can paint him.

There’s a smear of red behind his ear when Octavia comes the next morning to collect the laundry. She stands there, hands on her hips, glaring at her them. Clarke manages to keep a straight face, but Bellamy stares shamefully at the floor. “This isn’t what I meant when I said I’d help out.”

“We’ll make it up to you,” Clarke assures her.

“Promises, promises,” Octavia says doubtfully and shoves the sheets into the laundry bag. Bellamy finally finds the nerve to look at Clarke and they burst into laughter the moment his sister is gone.

She works on the book for the rest of the week and into the next, and one day Bellamy comes home to find it lying on his pillow. “Hey sleepyhead,” he says and nuzzles her hair. 

Clarke’s tempted to return the favor, but she’s eager to show him her work. “Open your present,” she says and with Bellamy’s help, pushes to a sitting position. She curls into his side while he unties the ribbon holding the book closed. 

“Wow, Clarke.” He leafs through the illustrations slowly so he can examine the details. 

Clarke props her chin on his shoulder and watches, sucks in a breath as he gets to the last story. He’d left a few pages blank, with a note to add their own stories one day, but she got started a little early. It’s not long, just a few pages in length, the tale of a brave princess and the fearless rebel that stole her heart. 

“It’s perfect,” he says and Clarke lets out that breath. It’s a fairytale, but she didn’t gloss over the hard parts. The princess and the rebel don’t always get along, and there are evil kings and powerful wizards and a vicious warlord that throw obstacles in their path. But there’s also a fierce outlaw and a brilliant witch and an army of dwarves that fight to keep their queen and king on the throne. Maybe the outlaw has Octavia’s face, or the witch has Raven’s eyes; maybe the warlord has Tristan’s snarl.

“It’s the story of us,” she whispers, presses a kiss to his shoulder. 

The babies kick, sharp and fierce, against Bellamy’s ribs. “I think someone’s jealous that it’s not about them.” 

Clarke watches Bellamy smooth down the blank pages and close the book. One day those pages will be filled with more stories, stories about the two lives she carries under her heart. “We have time, right?

Bellamy laughs as the baby kicks again. “Yeah. We have time.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke learns a new word: micromanagement.

At noon on her first day, Murphy had shown up and brought her to the lunch briefing. He was pushing a wheelchair that Wick made for Harper after the fall of Mount Weather, when she’d been too weak to feed herself let alone walk. Clarke was glad for it; Art couldn’t accuse her of wasting resources when she was only utilizing what already existed. 

It’s after a few weeks that she notices the change in Art’s behavior. He doesn’t seethe when she asks him a question, and gives answers that are more than a sentence in length. She wracks her brain to figure out what happened, because her belly keeps getting bigger and she spends most of her time in bed and Art’s being cordial to her, maybe even nice.

Then it hits her, what’s caused the change: she’s staying out of the day-to-day running of the camp. She’s trusting her people to do their jobs, empowering them to take pride in their work. She isn’t second guessing them or hovering over them. She’s having faith in them to protect their camp, and they haven’t disappointed her yet. She’s mostly embarrassed that it took her so long to figure it out.

Bellamy laughs when she tells him her realization and she swats at him, so very annoyed that he never said anything. 

“You needed to figure it out on your own. You have a good heart, but you’re stubborn, Princess.”

She throws a balled up cattle inventory in his direction and frowns, then crosses her arms and rests them over the enormous swell of her belly. “When the babies come, you’ll tell me, right? I don’t want to mess it up.”

He picks up one of her bare feet and pulls it into his lap. “I think that’s why it’s called a learning process.” 

Clarke flinches. Too many things go wrong when she doesn't know what to do. Charlotte and Tris, Finn and Wells flash before her eyes, but mostly the sixty-three souls that went up in smoke while she’d run. She’d hid. Abandoned her people in their time of need. It makes her cheeks burn just from thinking about it. Bellamy knows. True to her word, Abby didn’t tell a soul, and Raven didn’t spill the beans either, but the truth has a way of coming out. Clarke had told him their second year at the cottage.

_He found her watching the sunrise, wrapped in a fur robe and blowing on her hands to get them warm. “Beautiful,” he said and she turned to find him leaning against the doorjamb. He looked young and strong, and she longed for something as sturdy to hold her up. Her secret was choking her, pressing on her heart and crushing all the things that let her love. She couldn’t move forward with him, not until he knew._

_“I knew Octavia was there.”_

_Bellamy’s forehead knotted in confusion. “Clarke, what the hell are you talking about?”_

_“The missile. I knew it was coming. I knew Octavia was there and I let it fall anyway.”_

_Bellamy was quiet, so quiet she swore she could hear the furious beat of his heart. “What were you thinking?” he finally said._

_“The people,” she whispered. “They don’t always have a right to know. It was the Mountain or Ton DC. I chose the mountain. I chose you.”_

_He flinched and crossed his arms over his chest. She’d killed people for him; she’d done to him what Finn did to her. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t even know you.”_

_Clarke didn't disagree. “You were fighting to save our people and I let them die.”_

_“So you thought now – here – was the right time to tell me.”_

_“It’s where you told me that you loved me. If we can’t make it here…it’s not going to work.” She paused, blinked back tears. “I have blood on my hands, but you have a choice. This is who I am. Decide if it’s what you want.”_

_He started at her for long minutes, an unreadable look in his dark eyes. “Do you hear them in your head? Do you hear the dead?”_

_“Every day.”_

_“I do too.” A pause. “Would you do it again?”_

_“I haven’t yet.” There were thirteen children in Luna’s village by the sea. They were born in the mountain but carried the Sky People’s marrow inside them; they had a second chance at the edge of the world. Clarke didn’t regret the sacrifices she made to save them._

_Bellamy stepped forward, crossed the narrow space between them so he was framed by the sun, bars of red and gold falling across his face. “We’ve all done terrible things, Clarke, but I know who you are. That’s the part that matters to me.”_

_He kissed her then, desperate and furious, and she woke at dusk, naked and bruised between the furs. He’d looked worse for wear too, ugly red claw marks running down his back, but his smile was full of hope. “I love you,” he said and she knew, in that moment, that he always would._

Clarke looks at Bellamy miserably. “When I make mistakes, people die.”

His hands still and he swallows hard. He’s made his own mistakes, three hundred twenty souls always weighing on his mind. “Remember what I said after the hurricane?”

“Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two very different things.” She’d carried those words with her the entire first year on the ground, replayed them in her head when she stuck the knife in Finn’s chest. Nothing had mattered more than keeping her people alive.

“I was wrong,” he says softly. “It’s not enough to survive. We have to be worthy of survival.” He looks at her with clear, intense eyes. “We’re going to make mistakes, Clarke, but we’re going to make them for the right reasons. That’s how I know it will be okay.”

She manages a small nod and he picks up her foot again, digs a knuckle into the arch. Clarke gasps. “Listen to me. We’re a team. We’ll figure it out together.” His voice is low and steady, full of certainty. He digs in that knuckle again and Clarke’s head falls back on the pillow. She isn’t remotely embarrassed by the hitching moan that follows. “Relax, Princess. Just this once, stop thinking.”

Clarke loses herself in the touch of his hands and the sound of his voice. If he believes in her, she has no choice but to believe in herself.

 

* * *

 

Right before her seventh month starts, Murphy shows up at the cabin with the wheelchair and a blindfold. Clarke stares at him, reluctant to leave her house. In general, she doesn’t want to die, but especially not on a day when she got into her coat without help.

She does her best to cross her arms over her enormous belly. “What’s going on?”

Murphy holds up his hands in supplication, but Clarke doesn’t look away from the blindfold. He's given her no cause for concern since his return from the City of Light, but old habits die hard. A part of her still worries he might wheel her into the woods and put a bullet between her eyes.

He gestures to the wheelchair and Clarke reluctantly sits; she can always refuse the blindfold. Then, he comes around it to squat in front of her. He keeps his hands on his knees, where she can see them, and peers up at her. “Do you trust me?” His voice is all normal Murphy wryness, but there’s a note of longing too, and it makes something catch in Clarke’s chest, how desperately he wants to belong. It’s been almost three years since he's slipped up. She said as much to her mother about the Grounders. They’ve all made mistakes; perhaps it’s time to forgive his.

“Yeah,” Clarke says softly, sure to look into his eyes. “I think I do.” 

Murphy’s smile is small, but it’s filled with hope. “Then trust me on this.” He winds the fabric over her eyes and she decides to take that leap of faith, doesn’t panic as he slowly wheels her away. 

They stop a few minutes later and strong hands help her out of the chair. She thinks they feel familiar, but it’s hard to tell through the thick padding of her coat. Then, the blindfold is removed and a voice that’s definitely familiar whispers in her ear. “Open your eyes.”

Clarke obeys, ready to smile up at Bellamy, but her mouth falls open when she takes in the mess hall. It’s a party. A party just for her. She doesn’t even care what Art will say when he learns that community resources were commandeered for a personal event. The tables are decorated with holly and pinecones and garlands are strung from the walls. There’s a pot of cider bubbling over the fire and platters of cake and cookies and a chair padded with cushions is in the middle of it all.

“Surprise!” Octavia grins. “Welcome to your baby shower!”

Clarke does her best not to cry, blinks back tears as she takes in all the smiling faces. Bellamy keeps a firm grip on her elbow when she loses control, blubbers like a fool and buries her face in his jacket.

“I think we broke her,” Jasper whispers anxiously. “What do we do?”

Bellamy laughs and rubs the tears from her cheeks. “It’s standard operating procedure these days. You’re okay, right?”

Clarke manages a tearful nod. “I’m okay.” 

Jasper watches her warily while Bellamy leads her to the chair and Octavia lays a blanket over her legs. Clarke smiles broadly at her guests. Even without the party, she’s been out of her house twice in one afternoon. It’s a big day for her and the babies.

When everyone has a cup of cider and a piece of cake, Octavia draws their collective attention to the Clarke. “It’s time for presents!” 

Each gift is more thoughtful than the next. Jasper and Monty went in together to create special baby shampoo and lotion. There’s a complicated explanation about chemistry and lavender fronds, but Clarke just opens a bottle and breathes it in, pictures her and Bellamy in the tub with babies in their arms. Octavia provides more maternity clothes, including two new bras, and Harper gives her a bag to tote around the babies’ things.

There are more toys and clothes, and from Wick, two pairs of short rubber pants. “Cloth diapers,” he says in disgust. “I can’t imagine anything worse. At least these should keep you dry." Bellamy’s so appreciative that he promises Wick an extra keg of beer the next time he visits Ton DC. 

It makes Clarke flinch, just the mention of that place, but Bellamy’s too focused on the horror of dirty diapers to notice. They rebuilt the city after the war and it’s become a symbol of the alliance, filled with tributes to the dead. Bellamy visits on occasion for military business but Clarke stays away, even if it means the longer ride to Lexa’s camp. 

She’s so engrossed in her thoughts that she misses the next guest. It’s Raven, standing before the dais holding an enormous box; she gestures at Wick to bring a second one. It was a surprise to see her at the party, but it’s an outright shock that she brought such an elaborate present. Clarke shakes her head to clear it and opens a box while Bellamy takes its twin. They’re identical mobiles, eleven tiny stations orbiting around the massive Go-Sci wheel. Their structure looks familiar and a feeling of melancholy washes over Clarke as she remembers a boy with laughing eyes.

“Finn taught me,” Raven interrupts and Clarke’s head snaps up. Bellamy just watches them closely. “I wanted them to know where they came from.” Clarke catches Mecha Station between her fingers, feels the cool bite of the metal against her skin. Finn’s rarely in her thoughts, but he’s a part of the girl she’s become, the girl she is today. She likes the idea of her babies having a little bit of that girl watching over them.

“Thanks, Raven. Thank you so much.” 

Raven nods and rejoins the party, and then Murphy takes her place, stands awkwardly before Clarke’s chair holding a wooden cradle. He sets it down at her feet.

He shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I heard you got one from the Grounders, but it was before you found out about the twins. I thought you might need another.” He keeps his eyes on the floor while he waits for their reaction.

Clarke leans forward to examine it. While the first cradle was carved with images of the sky, its partner illustrates the earth. There’s a river and trees, mountains and flowers and grass and an abstract object she thinks is the dropship. The craftsmanship isn’t as fine as Lexa’s present, but it’s well-made, and more important, well-intentioned. She can’t imagine the hours of work that went into making it, the effort Murphy took even when he didn’t know what the reception would be.

Bellamy’s the first to say something, pushing to his feet and sticking out a hand. Murphy nervously accepts and to everyone’s surprise, Bellamy doesn’t just shake his hand. He pulls Murphy into one of those shoulder-clapping man-hugs. “Thank you,” Bellamy says sincerely and Murphy smiles, a real smile that reaches his eyes. He ducks his head as he disappears into crowd, but there’s a lot of oohing and aahing over his gift. 

Clarke looks on from her throne and smiles. So many people she cares about are in one room. There’s Octavia and Lincoln. Harper and Penn. Miller. Jasper and Monty. Even Raven and Wick. She’s not the first woman in the camp to have a child, but she’s the first of the hundred. They’re her babies, but they matter to her people too; they’re a living reminder of how far they’ve come. 

She’s never been more proud of her subjects. She’s never been more proud to belong to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try to keep my fics canon-compliant, even when they’re AU, so there was a late edit to this chapter to deal with the missile crises from 2x12. I think it works, but I’m open to feedback. Also, Sheryl Sandberg is one of my heroes, so this is also the chapter where the fic evolves into a treatise on the struggles of working women; Clarke’s got a partner that “leans in” and I think it’s cool when dudes contribute. Thanks as always for the support. Happy Valentine's Day! Enjoy.


	7. Chapter 7

 

* * *

 

March comes in like a lamb and Clarke begins planning in earnest. She’s past the seventh month mark and she needs to get her house in order. The twins will most likely arrive early, somewhere around thirty-five weeks, which gives her less than two months to get ready. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying, but she prepares as best she can. 

Eventually they’ll move to a bigger cabin, but for the time being, what used to pass for a living room has become a nursery. The cradles are angled in a corner and Bellamy hung the mobiles from the ceiling with thin pieces of wire. Kane gave them a chest to store the babies’ things and Clarke’s filled it with the clothes and blankets she received at both baby showers; the toys are stowed nearby in a woven basket. When they arrive, the twins will have more than they actually need.

The harder part is planning for her postpartum life. She’s hoping to take two months off before going back to her position full time, but she’s not sure how it will work. They’ll need childcare and nursing support. There will be laundry and sleep deprivation and Bellamy will spend his days wielding a gun. It’s a terrible plan, but there are no other options. Somehow, they’ll have to make do.

Clarke’s in the middle of sketching out a potential childcare plan when Mali knocks on the door and pokes her head in. She’s got Daisy strapped to her back and a basket hanging from one arm. She smiles brightly as she steps inside. “I brought lunch.”

Clarke closes her tablet. “Wow, thanks. I didn’t know you were on babysitting duty.”

Mali twists off her carrier and plops Daisy on the ground to play with a wooden horse. “You were so good to us when we had the flu. It’s the least I can do.” She unpacks a simple lunch of bread and nut butter and loads them on a tray along with a cup of water. “Bon appetite,” she says and sits on the edge of Clarke’s bed.

“Thanks.” Mali keeps a careful eye on Daisy while Clarke eats, but the baby mostly sits in silence gnawing on her toy. “Is that good for her teeth?”

“She’s still teething,” Mali says. “I think it helps. Or she might just be bored. I never know.”

Clarke laughs. “I feel the same way. When my back hurts, I never know if it’s gas or contractions.” She pauses. “Thankfully it’s always gas.”

“When are you due?” Clarke’s belly is no longer a good indicator. These days, she looks more like a beached whale than a pregnant lady.

“About six weeks. Twins are usually early, so I figure about then.”

Mali nods. “Daisy was late. Your mom says a lot of first babies are.” She glances at Daisy again, now babbling to herself while she grinds the horse into the floor. “She’s getting so big.” 

“I just want mine out. I miss seeing my feet.” 

“Have you thought about names? You’ll want to have them ready when the babies are born.”

It’s been a sore subject between her and Bellamy, what to call the twins, and even with so little time left, they're still at odds. “How did you choose Daisy?” Clarke’s curious, but she also wants to take the focus off her own lack of an answer.

“She was born in the dead of winter,” Mali says. “It was cold and dark and the sky was always grey, but she had this enormous, sunny smile on her face. Your mom says they can’t smile when they’re that young, but I swear she did. Once in Earth Skills, I saw a daisy in a textbook. It was bright and sunny and reminded me of her smile. It just fit.” She jumps to her feet as her daughter makes a beeline for the fire pit.

Clarke leans back on her pillows and considers Mali’s story. Bellamy has been pushing for Aurora, for his mother, or Jake, for her dad. Neither sits well with Clarke. Their deceased parents are beloved, but they’re people of the sky, of the deep, dark space that claimed them, and she doesn’t want that legacy living on in the twins. Her babies will be children of the earth. She doesn’t want them carrying the dead with them.

Mali comes back to collect the tray, Daisy securely strapped on her back. “All done?” Clarke nods.

She focuses on the carrier when Mali repacks the basket. It’s some kind of contraption made of wood and cloth that supports the baby’s head while leaving her limbs free. 

“Where did you get the carrier?” 

Mali slings the basket over her arm. “Engineering made it for me.” She grimaces. “When I went back to work, I had to do something with Daisy.”

“What’s your assignment?”

“Factory Station. I sort foraged goods.” She grimaces again. 

“If you could choose, what would you do?”

Mali pauses, like she’s trying to find the right words, then reaches back to stroke the soft curls from Daisy’s forehead. “I’d spend the day with her.”

“There are other babies in camp, right?” 

“Yes.”

“And their mothers are responsible for child care while they’re working?”

“Yes,” Mali repeats. “Why?” She puts the basket back on the table and rubs her wrist.

Clarke can barely contain herself. She feels more energized than she has in weeks. “How would you feel about running a day care center?”

Mali’s eyes widen with surprise. “Like take care of babies?”

“Sure,” Clarke says. “Or toddlers, kids too young to attend school. I know there are a lot of moms who’d get more work done if they didn’t have to chase after their children too. Just think about it,” she adds before Mali can say something. “You don’t have to make a decision now.”

“Yes,” Mali exclaims, cheeks flushed with excitement. “The answer is yes.”

Clarke laughs. “Okay then. Give me a few days to get a proposal together and I’ll let you know how to proceed.”

Mali rushes to the bed, baby and basket and all, and grips Clarke’s hand. “Thank you, Chancellor. Thank you so much.”

Clarke squeezes back. “No, thank you.”

When Mali’s gone, Clarke falls back on the pillows and does a little dance, just a quick flail of her arms in the air. The babies kick in return and Clarke shifts to her side, tries to alleviate some of the pressure, even if she can’t keep the smile off her face. One problem’s been solved. Despite the weight of the babies, she already feels lighter.

 

* * *

 

More people stop by. As training intensifies, Octavia’s visits drop to once a week and Bellamy often doesn’t come home until long after dark. It makes Clarke anxious, having so much free time. It reminds her of that year in solitary, the long months she spent with nothing but her own thoughts for company and the painful knowledge that she was running out of time. Drawing had been her salvation, a way to survive each day and wake up the next morning. She asks Bellamy to find her a new sketchbook and as always, he comes through.

In her Skybox, she’d drawn the earth: mountains, rivers, trees and grass. On the ground, she draws what is and what could be. She lingers over the contours of Bellamy’s cheeks, laughter hiding the shadows in his eyes. She imagines how their children will look. Some drawings have Bellamy’s dark curls, while some have her blonde waves. She experiments with blue eyes and brown, sometimes one of each. In space, she longed to feel the sun on her face and float in the water. On the ground she just wants a happy ending.

 

* * *

 

Harper has her own exciting news. It took some time but she’s six weeks along and can’t stop grinning. Penn is a Grounder, one of Indra’s best warriors, and it’s fascinating hearing what a pregnancy’s like in their world.

“He keeps making me drink this terrible tasting tea,” Harper confesses one afternoon. 

“Can you find out what it is? We should share resources and information.” Clarke’s long since stopped taking clinic shifts, but she hasn’t stopped working for her people. The more they learn, the healthier their babies. 

“Sure.” Harper plays with a loose thread on the woven quilt, her eyes locked on the huge mound of Clarke’s belly. Even under a pile of blankets, it’s enormous. “I’m not going to get that big, right?”

“Not unless you’re having twins.” A look of horror flashes across Harper’s face. “We’ll cross that bridge if we have to. Concentrate on getting through the first trimester. How’s the morning sickness?”

Harper’s face turns a sickly shade of green. “Please don’t mention it.” She twirls the loose string around her finger. “Do you know what you’re having?”

“Unfortunately, no. It would help with the planning. And baby names. We’re having trouble agreeing.”

“Maya’s pretty.” 

Clarke smiles politely. She owes a lot to Maya, for not punching her during her own time in the mountain, but mostly for sacrificing herself to save the forty-odd Sky People trapped inside. They’d found her body, riddled with radiation burns, Monty holding Jasper as he kneelt beside her and wept. Maya was a good woman, but she’s dead and Clarke wants her babies born to the living. “Maybe.”

The babies' genders are also a constant topic of conversation. Octavia had taken one look at her belly and declared that Clarke's having sons. "Indra says it's a sign," she had explained over dinner. "If you carry high, it's a girl. If you carry low, it's a boy."

“I don’t care,” Clarke had said. Once, she’d been a little girl and had been raised alongside Wells. She felt prepared for either. 

“Bell? What about you?”

“Healthy,” he’d replied. “I just want them to be healthy.” Octavia had smiled and Clarke had fought back tears. Once it was a fantasy, but in a few weeks, those visions of Bellamy holding her babies will be a reality.

Since her fourth month, when Abby told them that the baby (singular at the time) could hear them, Bellamy has taken to singing to her belly. Sometimes it’s Unity Day anthems or Grounder folk songs, but sometimes he chooses relics from before the Cataclysm. The Ark’s audio library had access to pre-war music, and Clarke misses her old playlists. Sometimes, she thinks she’d kill someone to hear Fiona Apple or Cat Power again. 

She’s leafing through her plan for the day care center when Bellamy plops down on the quilt and presses a kiss to her belly. She doesn’t pay much attention when he starts humming, but she does close her tablet when he starts singing. He’s adorable and it’s distracting, but more to the point, he has a terrible voice and it ruins her concentration. She gives up entirely to stroke his hair as the first verse begins.

_“People smile and tell me I’m the lucky one,_  
_And we’ve only just begun._  
_Think I’m gonna have a son.”_

“Or a daughter?”

He mock glares at her. “I thought this was my song.”

“Just pointing out…”

 _“Think I’m gonna have a son.”_ He gestures at Clarke. 

_“Or a daughter…”_ She tries, and fails, to match his tune.

_“Even though we ain’t got money_  
_I’m so in love with you, honey_  
_Everything will bring a chain of love_  
_In the morning, when I rise_  
_You bring a tear of joy to my eyes_  
_And tell me, everything is gonna be alright”_

Clarke’s heart clutches in her chest and her fingers tighten in his hair but he keeps going, pushes through the song, tells them the story of a man and a woman building a life on nothing but love. 

“You really think that’s possible?” she asks Bellamy.

He looks up from playing a game with the twins. When one baby kicks, he lightly swats back. It’s bizarre, but painless, so Clarke hasn’t made him stop. She mostly thinks it’s incredibly sweet and often seems to wear the babies out so she can sleep.

“Probably not, but it’s a nice dream. If things ever gets too hard, or we want to stop…we’ll take the kids and move to the cottage. I could be happy there.” 

The cottage is real air, sun on her face, the aroma of grass and leaves filling her lungs. It’s all the things she wants but doesn’t think she deserves. Not yet. It’s too soon, but maybe, one day, she’ll be ready. And when she is, he’ll be waiting for her. “I could too.”

He smiles, turns back to his game, and she watches the man she loves play with the children she can’t wait to meet.

 

* * *

 

The drums of war sound again. 

One of Lexa’s scouts returns with his horse but missing his head and the final weeks of Clarke’s pregnancy are spent mobilizing for war. Murphy becomes her personal chauffeur, wheeling her from meeting to meeting once the Alliance’s armies arrive a Camp Jaha.

Clarke approves uniforms and weapons orders, reduces rations to a sustainable minimum. She doesn’t like putting her people on diet of potatoes and boiled greens, but the army won’t be able to maintain open supply lines as it moves north. If her troops are risking their lives to protect the civilians at home, the least she can do is give them more than salted meat and hardtack. The Grounders come from all sides, fill the valley with tents and torches and war cries. It makes Clarke shiver, the excitement and enthusiasm in the air, but she can’t blame them – if she were going off to potentially die, she’d try to be confident about it too.

Bellamy holds her at night and she can feel his heart thundering against her back. “I don’t want to leave,” he says when the last of Lexa’s army arrives. “I want to take you and run for the cottage, hide out in the mountains until it passes.”

“Okay,” she agrees. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow.”

He smiles against her neck. “You know that we can’t really go.”

“I know,” she sighs. “But if we could, I would.”

His arms tighten around her, almost cut off her air, and he whispers his promise into the fine hairs at her nape. “I’m coming back to you.”

She lets her pillow catch her tears. Bellamy doesn’t lie to her. She’s terrified that he’ll start now.

 

* * *

 

Lunch briefings are replaced by war councils. Clarke doesn’t weigh in much on military matters, but her attendance is still required. She sits in her chair, listens to Kane and Indra go back and forth about which Kru will lead the vanguard, and wishes she could be anywhere else. She can’t believe her final weeks of pregnancy are being spent planning battles. 

Eventually, the dueling generals run out of steam and retreat to separate corners while Bellamy takes the floor. He’s Kane’s second and he’ll be heading up the recon part of the mission. His Trigeda counterpart, a tall, slender warrior named Echo, stands at his shoulder. She helped Bellamy bring down the mountain and release a sleeping army from within its walls. She’s a hero too, the “Girl that Brought Down the Mountain,” and she wears her glory like armor. No matter where she goes, everyone knows what she did to bring her people home.

Clarke can’t stand her. Objectively, she knows that Echo is an asset. She’s smart and clever and experienced in reconnaissance. They’re lucky to have her. But she’s more than just a good soldier. After Mount Weather fell, she disappeared into the woods with Bellamy.

No one knows what happened during those missing days, but Clarke vividly remembers his blood-smeared face as he limped out of the mountain. Echo was at his side, supporting his weight, and calling for a healer. They told similar stories: escaping the prison, unleashing the army, destroying all those who stood in their way. There was always a crowd of former captives surrounding them, saying thank you, singing their praises. Bellamy wouldn’t talk to her in those days – any news she had of him came through a reluctant Octavia – but she saw him, noble and proud, when she made her rounds. His wounds healed quickly, but only the cuts and bruises. Loud noises caused him to panic. Sleep was hard. All the people made him claustrophobic. Clarke saw him move through camp, still favoring his right leg, and Echo was never far behind. She had that same guarded look in her eyes, like any misstep and she’d land back in a cage. When she touched him, Bellamy didn’t flinch. 

Octavia had been the one to tell Clarke. “He needs a few days,” she’d said. “Let him go.” Clarke hadn’t pressed further, but when she realized Echo was gone too, it felt like someone was stomping on her chest. They’d come back a week later and returned to their previous lives, but Clarke doesn’t think Bellamy completely left that trip behind. 

“What happened?” she’d asked him once, after they’d been together a year and confessed their love, their darkest secrets. 

Bellamy’s face had closed up, something hot and fierce flashing in his eyes. “I got over it.” He didn’t say more and Clarke didn’t push, but she’s never forgotten.

Echo’s not a bad person. She doesn’t gloat and she doesn’t rub that week in Clarke’s face. But she doesn’t deny the connection she shares with Bellamy, the pain only she understands. It makes Clarke hate her, more than a little bit, that she’s pledged her life to Bellamy, given him her heart and soul, and she’s not the only woman to carry his secrets.

The meeting breaks and Clarke watches Echo whisper something in Bellamy’s ear, watches him smile in response. It makes her cheeks flush and her hands ball into fists, and then it makes her hate herself. She trusts Bellamy. She has no doubt of his fidelity, his commitment to their family, but…it hurts to know he had feelings for someone else. 

“Hi Echo,” she says brightly, hopes her voice hides the jealousy that she feels. What she’d do to know what happened in the woods…

“Congratulations, Clarke.” Echo’s tone is polite, but her smile is secretive. She grasps Bellamy’s elbow and murmurs something in Trigedasleng. Clarke bites her inner cheek to keep from glaring. Whatever they’re saying, it’s too low for her to hear.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s discuss it later.”

“Everything okay?” Clarke asks. Bellamy takes hold of her chair and begins the trek back to their cabin.

He sighs, so much exhaustion in the sound, and she reaches behind to rub the back of his hand. She also lets go of Echo; the issue is hers, and Bellamy has bigger things to worry about. “We leave in two days. I thought I’d have more time, but we have to strike first.”

Clarke’s hand stills and she drops it into her lap. Two days. Two days and she might never see Bellamy again.

“You promised,” she reminds him. She means to hold him to it, but her voice shakes. She can’t imagine raising their babies without him; she can’t imagine growing old alone.

Bellamy bends to press a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll do my best.”

His answer makes Clarke’s heart stop. It’s a promise, but it’s not the one she wants.

 

* * *

 

It lingers between them – Clarke’s fears, Echo’s specter, Bellamy’s silence – sucks all the pleasure out of their last days together. 

“I don’t love her,” Bellamy says that night. Clarke looks up from the drawing she’s working on, Bellamy at the dropship, the man he was when she first met him, and slowly closes the notepad. 

“What?”

“Echo. I don’t love her.”

Clarke’s cheeks flame. “Was I that obvious?”

Bellamy’s mouth quirks at the corners. “Only to me.” His expression grows serious. “I mean it though: I don’t love her.”

“I never thought you did.” It’s the truth. No matter what he felt for Echo once, Clarke doesn’t doubt how he feels about her now.

“Then what? I’m leaving in two days. I hate fighting with you.” He gets up from the table to sit beside her on the bed. 

“You don’t talk about what happened at Mount Weather,” she says quietly. “I…I’m jealous, I guess, that she was a part of it and I wasn’t.”

Bellamy’s quiet a long moment. “I _can’t_ talk about it,” he says. “If I talk about it then I’ll think about it and I won’t go back there.”

"I'm not trying to push you, but I wish you'd tell me what happened with her.”

He stares at her, eyes flicking from her belly to her face and back again. “She healed me,” he says. “She helped me get away from everything and then she put her arms around me until I wasn’t afraid anymore.” 

It hurts, so much more than she anticipated. She was hoping he’d say they had crazy sex for a few days to distract each other from the pain. Knowing the truth – that he let Echo in, that they built a connection – steals the breath from her lungs. She even takes a deep, gulping breath, pushes him away when he reaches for her. 

“I’m not trying to upset you, but you asked and I don’t lie to you.”

“I appreciate your honesty.” She’s still breathing heavily, arms wrapped as best she can around her belly. She wishes she could hate him, feel nothing but anger and betrayal, but she mostly feels terribly sad. 

“Clarke,” he whispers and scoots across the bed to kneel at her feet. “We both have pasts with other people, but they’re over now. I didn’t stay with her. I’m building a life with you.” He clasps their hands and presses them over the swell of their babies. “I was wrong yesterday. No matter what happens out there, I’m coming home to you. All of you.” He pauses, blinks back a fine sheen of tears. “Will you wait for me?”

It takes all the energy she has to lean forward and press her mouth against his, soft and gentle but full of all the things she feels: love, trust, family, home. “No matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I’ll be here.”

He smiles against her mouth, bends to kiss her belly as well. “I’ll always find you.”

She lets herself believe him.

 

* * *

 

Clarke watches, dry-eyed, as the man she loves marches off to war.

She said her goodbyes at dawn, including a bruising hug from Octavia and a long, lingering kiss from Bellamy, but now she stands on the sidelines with her mother and watches Bellamy do what he does best: _inspire_.

Her people look like Grounders, clad in skins and furs and their faces painted in the shades of the forest. Bellamy frowns as he inspects his troops, his freckles hidden under layers of green and brown paint. 

Most of the troops have rifles, but there are bows and spears scattered throughout. There are also knives strapped to most soldiers’ hips, and in Octavia’s case, a sword hilt poking over her shoulder. She walks up and down the lines, black war paint only highlighting the blue of her eyes, and yells at her unit about whetstones and extra ammo. They stare at her with a mix of awe and fear in their eyes. Octavia is tiny but her wrath is no small thing – she swears grown men have cried after a particularly harsh reprimand.

Now she stands behind her brother, Indra on one side and Echo on the other, while Bellamy paces before their combined armies. His words are of another world, another time, but the sentiment rings true.

_“From this day to the ending of the world,_  
_But we in it shall be remembered_  
_We few, we happy few, we band of brothers_  
_For he today that sheds his blood with me_  
_Shall be my brother!”_

A cheer rings out across the yard and Clarke watches through tear-filled eyes as they prepare to march, Bellamy at the helm. “The tip of the spear,” he’d said to her the other night, and it makes her shiver to think of the blows he’s been tasked with delivering. However he strikes, she hopes it’s hard, hopes it’s true. Her babies kick, fast and furious, as their father leads the charge. 

Still, she’s chancellor, so she holds her head high as Bellamy leads the column north. She prepares for the worst and hopes for the best. She can’t do this without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of a two-part chapter that will be posted later this week. We’re nearing the end, folks. Just a bit more and this thing will be wrapped up. Thank you so much for the outpouring of support, both for this fic and my back. I _so_ appreciate it. Enjoy.


	8. Chapter 8

 

* * *

 

In the moments after Bellamy’s departure, Clarke forgets how to breathe. The rest of the camp’s inhabitants return to their daily lives, but she stands rooted in place, watching the last of the army disappear into the forest.

She dimly hears her mother ask if she’s okay, feels the quick tug on her arm. “I’m fine, Mom,” she says. “I just need a minute.”

Abby looks uncertain, but doesn’t argue. “I’ll be in the med-bay if you need me. How are you getting home?”

Clarke’s about to suggest her own two feet when a surprising voice offers her services. “If you don’t mind going slow, I can push the chair.” 

Clarke glances up to see Raven staring down at her, an inscrutable expression on her face. “Uh, thanks.” 

It’s no secret that her daughter and Raven aren’t the best of friends, and Abby looks nervous. “Sure.” She waits a beat, like she’s having a debate with herself, then bends down to press a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “I’ll come by later to check on you.”

She watches the trees as Abby walks away, bright green with new growth, and wonders how the earth can seem so fresh and new while her world is falling apart.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” 

Clarke looks up sharply. “What?”

Raven studies the trees intently. “Getting left behind.”

“During the last war, I learned that being a good leader means knowing which battles to fight and which to delegate. The army’s in capable hands.” She rests her arms over her belly. “Plus, even if I wanted to go, I’m not exactly battle ready.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Raven’s eyes drop to her left leg, still encased in a metal brace. “Wick’s out there,” she says. “And I’m stuck here. Again.” 

There’s no acid fog to disable, no tone generators to build. There’s nothing to do but wait. Clarke understands how she feels. “Bellamy’s out there too.” 

Raven lets out a heavy sigh. “No use in crying over spilled milk. Let’s get you home before you deliver those babies in the training yard.”

Clarke lets Raven help her into the chair and grips the armrests as she pushes her towards the cabin. Their progress is labored and slow, but Raven doesn’t complain, and Clarke doesn’t say anything when she pauses to catch her breath.

“How did you get by last time?” Clarke asks. She’d been on the front line during the Battle of Mount Weather, but Raven had been at camp waiting. Hoping. _Praying_. 

“I kept busy. It was right before our first winter and there was so much to do. You know what they say about idle hands…”

It’s good advice, except Clarke doesn’t have anything to occupy her time. There’s nothing but heavy silence filling her cabin, an empty bed to keep her company through the night. “Thanks,” she says to be polite. “Appreciate the suggestion.”

They’re at her house and the wheelchair jerks a little as Raven secures the brakes. “Need any help getting inside?”

“It’s one of the few things I can still do on my own.” Using the armrests as leverage, she can even hoist herself to her feet. “Thanks again.” It’s awkward, the silence that follows, and Raven stares at her boots while Clarke slowly walks the few feet to her front door.

“Hey, Clarke!” 

“Yeah?” The sun’s in her eyes so she can’t see Raven’s face, but Clarke likes to think that she’s smiling.

“Would it be okay if I came by sometime? You know, to keep busy while the boys are gone?”

Clarke doesn’t bother hiding her own smile. “Any time.”

 

* * *

 

Abby drops by that afternoon for Clarke’s thirty-two week appointment and puts her on permanent bed rest. “You really pushed yourself this past week,” she says. “I think you’re starting to dilate.” Clarke’s eyes widen at the news and Abby laughs. “Don’t worry. The babies aren’t going to fall out, but they do need to gain weight.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “You can get up for bathroom breaks and that’s it.” 

“What about my job?” Clarke doesn’t try to hide the panic in her voice. She thought there’d be more time to figure out a temporary replacement for chancellor, but her grace period is over. What’s left of her camp could be in _Art’s_ hands. 

“That’s why we have a council,” Abby says, repeating Clarke’s own words. “We’ll be fine.” 

Clarke disagrees. She believes in democracy, but she’s spent two years working with the Council. Unless there’s one voice with veto power, they’ll never get anything done. She thinks through the remaining members: Octavia is at war and Sinclair’s always had a weird allegiance to Jaha. She’s getting along with Art and Jean, but doesn’t trust either. It leaves…

“I want you to take my place.”

Abby blinks at her. “I don’t understand.”

“I need someone to take over for the next few weeks. You’ve been on the Council before and you understand how it works. You’ll do a good job.” 

“I’m flattered, but…things are good between us. Almost like they were – ” She breaks off, then looks at Clarke with hope in her eyes. “Almost like they were before your father died. I like having you in my life again and I don’t want to risk it.”

Clarke remembers the day she told her mom that she was pregnant, her dream of one day being a real family, and realizes this is her chance. Four years she’s carried hatred in her heart, but she’s tired of letting it control her. She’s tired of being angry. She just wants her mom. So she takes Abby’s hand and presses it to her belly, where one of the babies is kicking against her ribs. “I’m trusting that you know what’s right for us,” she says. “I’m trusting you to keep us safe.”

She doesn’t say the words aloud, but she knows that her mother hears them, the absolution she can’t express but feels anyway, and Abby manages a small nod before she takes her daughter in her arms. The babies move even more and they both laugh and cry, press eager hands over Clarke’s abdomen to catch the kicks in their palms. 

“I won’t let you down,” Abby whispers into her daughter’s hair and more of the weight eases off Clarke’s shoulders. She likes how forgiveness feels.

 

* * *

 

Clarke tries to stay strong, to focus on her babies’ kicks and punches, or her plans for the daycare center, but sometimes it’s too much. Sometimes she cries herself to sleep. Sometimes she wishes Bellamy would die, that the endless waiting would be over. Most days, she just wants to see him one more time.

 

* * *

 

Bed rest isn’t as bad as she thought. Monty shows up in the mornings to prep the vegetable garden and often keeps her company until lunchtime. It’s usually one of her favorite tasks – a tangible sign of spring – but since she can’t reach her toes, she can’t pull weeds. Monty says he’s glad to keep busy and they share a knowing smile. It’s hard for him too, being left behind; even Jasper went off to war to help maintain the gunpowder supply.

Harper visits most afternoons, when the morning sickness lets up and she can leave her bed, and lies very still next to Clarke. 

“Penn thinks it’s a girl,” she confesses. “My face swelled like I sat on a wasp’s nest and my butt grew three sizes. He says girls steal their mother’s looks.” She grimaces, swallows hard. “I don’t care if I turn into a mutant gorilla if it means I’ll stop throwing up.”

Clarke laughs. “Octavia said I’m having boys because I’m carrying low, but my hair feels like straw. Maybe it’s one of each.”

Harper laughs too. “Still no preference?”

“Healthy,” Clarke says, conjuring Bellamy at dinner that night. “Just healthy.”

 

* * *

 

Raven makes an appearance as well. 

There’s a knock on the door and then a scuff of boots over the front step. “It’s open,” Clarke calls out and puts down her sketchbook. She fluffs her hair too in case it’s someone other than Harper.

“Hey,” Raven says and steps through the entranceway.

“Hi.” There’s a long, awkward pause, then Clarke pats the bed. “Hop on board.”

“Sure.” Raven sits on the very edge, careful to keep her boots off the quilt. “How are you feeling?”

“Same as ever – ready for it to be over.” Another uncomfortable pause. “What are you working on?”

Raven exhales and starts talking about the refrigeration system she’s trying to have ready by summer. Something about solar panels and recycled freon, but Clarke doesn’t care what it takes if it means drinking iced tea again.

“You’re a life saver,” she says with a laugh, but the smile falls from Raven’s face, a longing sadness filling her eyes. Clarke realizes her choice of words. It’s been three years since Finn died, but the wound has never fully healed. She just inadvertently ripped it open again.

“I blamed you for the longest time,” Raven says softly. “I blamed you for everything: because he chose you, because I got shot, because you stuck that knife in his chest.” Her eyes flare, dark and blazing. “I blamed you for dropping that missile on innocent people.” 

“You were right to blame me. I knew what would happen and I didn’t stop it.”

Raven shrugs. “Maybe. But you’re the one that has to live with it. I was so wrapped up in my anger that I never thought of what it was doing to you.” Her eyes soften, just the tiniest bit. “I was right to be angry, but those other things…I burned three hundred people alive, I tortured Lincoln. I shouldn’t be throwing stones.”

“War makes us do terrible things.” Clarke learned that lesson the hard way – no matter her intentions, the ends don’t always justify the means.

“Yeah,” Raven sighs. She has a faraway look in her eyes, likely from thinking about Wick. Clarke understands; Bellamy is rarely anywhere but in her thoughts. 

“They’re coming home,” Clarke says, forces confidence into her voice. She might be the size of a house and confined to her bed, but she’s still the chancellor and Raven’s one of her citizens. She has to be strong when her people are struggling.

“Of course they are,” Raven replies, all ballsy confidence. “I’ll kill Wick myself if he’s taken out by a guy wearing a polar bear’s head for a hat.” 

Clarke laughs. “I’m really glad you came by.”

“I’m not the one carrying around forty pounds of babies. It was the least I could do.” Raven takes in the darkening sky through the open window. “I better get going.” She starts to untangle her legs, but Clarke grasps her wrist.

“Stay. Please?” It’s been three days since Bellamy left and while she’s fine being alone, this is different. This is the Skybox again. This is being _lonely_. She misses Bellamy. She misses the sound of his voice, the music of his laugh, the way he’d patiently listen to her debrief her day. She misses his warmth between their sheets and his hands on his skin but mostly she misses having him there, breathing beside her, in and out, matching heartbeats lulling them to sleep. 

“You’re sure?”

“You have to make dinner, but yeah, I’m sure.” 

“Alright.” Raven says tentatively, then louder. “Alright.” She toes off her boots and heads to the small pantry. “Rice and beans good with you?

“Sounds great.”

Raven knows her way around the kitchen, and their food is seasoned with some dried cilantro and cayenne pepper they got from a desert clan last year. They eat in bed and Raven cleans the bowls and tells a story about the time she and Finn got protein paste all over his sheets and his mother made him sleep in them for a month rather than waste their water rations. Clarke recalls the time Wells spilled juice on her favorite sweater and she tried, and failed, at passing it off as tie-dyed because there were no points to replace it. 

It’s easier than it should be, trading stories about life on the Ark, and when they run out of breath, Raven snuffs out the candle and curls up on Bellamy’s pillow. 

“Are we going to be okay?” she asks, punching at the pillow to find a comfortable position. 

Clarke mumbles drowsily, already half asleep. “I think we already are.”

She dreams of the end of war, of a world with the sun shining on her face and flowers in her hair and the firm knowledge that this is peace. Bellamy’s there, golden and laughing, and Octavia and Raven are spinning in circles, their dresses blowing up around their thighs. When she opens her eyes, the sun is shining and the sky is a bright, brilliant blue and Clarke knows it’s just a dream but that doesn’t mean it can’t come true.

 

* * *

 

Abby brings dinner and stages an intervention.

Clarke watches her set the table, laying out three place settings rather than two. “Are we expecting a guest?” Abby and Raven are still close, and she’s told her mom about their revitalized friendship. Maybe she invited her?

Abby shakes her head. “Let’s get you out of bed.”

“Really?” The previous day she got yelled at for spending too long in the bathroom. She’d told Bellamy it was a waste of resources, building an attached privy, but now she thinks it’s the best decision that he ever made. 

“Just this one time. You’ll want to be looking your best.” She’s not wrong; for the past six weeks Clarke’s been wearing a t-shirt and leggings with her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.

With Abby’s help, Clarke pulls on her stretchy black pants and Bellamy’s best dress shirt. They roll up the sleeves and pull her hair back in a pretty twist and when Art walks through the door holding a bottle of cherry wine, she feels more like herself. She’s not thrilled with the company, but it’s nice to be out of bed; it’s even better having something to distract her from the gloom and doom that pops into her head when she’s alone.

“To diplomacy,” Art toasts and takes a hearty gulp of the wine. Clarke takes a small sip, catches her mom’s wink from across the table. She recalls late night meetings and dinners, nights when she’d had her father just to herself. She’d never given much thought to why Abby had chosen duty over her family, but she thinks she gets it now. Camp Jaha needs to remember that she’s human; she needs to remember that they’re people.

Her mom’s gone all out for dinner, even breaking into her personal salt stash to season the food. “It’s delicious,” Art says and takes a hearty spoonful of stew. “I can’t remember the last time I tasted salt.”

Abby smiles appreciatively. “A casualty of the uprising in Agro Station. You did a masterful job negotiating the truce.”

“You were a lawyer on the Ark?” Clarke realizes she knows nothing about him other than good organization skills and a short temper.

Art nods. “I was on the parole board,” he says. It’s code for the execution squad, the people that decided if teenagers lived or died, and Clarke goes very still in her seat. If not for the desperate mission that sent her to the ground, he could have ordered her execution when she turned eighteen.

Abby cuts in. “Art was always the dissenter.” She looks pointedly at her daughter. “He believed in second chances.”

“So how did you end up in charge of Factory Station?” 

“There was a need.” Art shrugs. “Sometimes you do things you don’t want for the sake of the greater good.” 

Clarke feels a blush stain her cheeks. All these years, she’s been so focused on the sacrifices she made that she never considered how her choices affected her people. Bellamy’s right – it’s not enough just to be alive; they have to make their lives worth living. “I know we got off to a bad start, but I’m hoping we can try again.”

Relief washes over Abby’s face when Clarke reaches out a hand for Art to shake. “I’d like that,” he says, grasps her hand in a firm grip. He even smiles at her before telling funny stories about the foraging parties’ adventures.

Later, when Clarke’s back in bed and Abby’s put away the last of the dishes, she comes over to kiss her daughter goodnight. “I’m so proud of you,” she says.

Clarke buries her smile in her mother’s hair. She’s proud of herself. She’s mending fences, bringing her people together. She can’t take down the enemy, but she can win the battles at home. The circumstances have changed, but she’s still doing her part; she’s still the leader she wants to be.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks pass and there’s no word from the front. Clarke tries not to panic, but she has a lot of time to do nothing but think about all the ways Bellamy could have died. 

Her friends help. She rarely sleeps alone, with either her mother or Raven by her side, and even Monty one night after she promised not to tell Bellamy. Her mom’s worried about Kane, but she focuses on her grandchildren, blinking back tears every time one of them kicks.

She’s with Abby when Miller rides into camp. The air feels very still as he bows his head and steps into the cabin. They stare at each other for long minutes, but Clarke won’t break first; she can’t hear the news she fears he'll deliver. 

“Bellamy was taken,” Miller says softly. “Three days ago.” Abby wraps an arm around her daughter’s waist to keep her upright. “I brought the wounded back,” he continues. “The war…it’s not going well.” 

Clarke closes her eyes, tries to process. Her people are well versed in war but not in losing. There are consequences, innocent lives that are lost, but they always come out on top. She can’t fathom a world where her people don’t win. 

“Honey?” Abby asks. “Did you hear what Nathan said?”

“Bellamy was taken,” Clarke whispers. Not dead, _taken_. She has a sudden burst of energy. “Tell me everything.”

Miller’s expression is pained. “We were ambushed outside Delphia. Even with the guns, we took heavy losses. Bellamy’s unit tried to go around the flank, take out the command post and gunners. We don’t know what happened next.”

“Was Echo with him?”

“Yes…”

Relief washes over Clarke as she sees Bellamy’s plan for what it really is. “He let himself be captured.” She even laughs. “He’s playing the inside man,” she continues. “He’s going to break the ice from within.”

Miller looks at her like she might be crazy, but Abby’s reaction takes her by surprise. “We’ll have to wait and see. Lieutenant Miller, thank you for the update.”

He salutes and leaves to check on the wounded and Abby slowly guides her daughter back to bed. 

“You didn’t disagree with me,” Clarke says as Abby tucks the covers under her chin. 

“After we sent the dropship, I never gave up hope that you were alive, not even when you took off your wristband. You think Bellamy’s alive? I believe it too.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Clarke says weepily. Tears slowly trickle down her cheeks and her mother gently wipes them away. “I’m having his babies. I can’t let go until I know for sure.”

Abby nods. “So we wait. Together.” 

“You’re staying, right?” Clarke asks. She doesn’t care how desperate she sounds. She can’t be alone right now.

Abby smiles and kicks off her boots. “As long as you need me.” 

Clarke curls on her side while Abby puts on her sleeping clothes and climbs in beside her, takes her daughter in her arms and holds her like they’re back on the Ark.

 _“Stay awake, don't rest your head,”_ Abby croons and Clarke lets her eyes drift closed, lets her mother’s voice carry her into a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

Three days pass without word. The army slowly trickles back, all the people Clarke loves amongst them. All except the most important one. 

Octavia had delivered the news, that Bellamy was still missing, jaw locked tight with the effort to keep her chin from trembling. Clarke had invited her to the cabin, to keep vigil like sisters, but Octavia had shaken her head and looked at Clarke with hard, brittle eyes. “We’re at war and a warrior doesn’t mourn those she’s lost until after the battle is won.” She’d gone off to check in with Indra and Clarke hasn’t seen her since, but she doesn’t hold it against her. Everyone copes in his or her own way. Jasper’s helping Monty weed the community garden. Abby spends her days with the wounded, treating the mass casualties accumulated by Trigedakru and Skaikru alike. 

Raven becomes an almost permanent fixture in the cabin, and sometimes Wick comes with her. “It was bad,” he says with his usual cheeky grin, but there’s a tense set to his jaw that Clarke recognizes too well. “We had guns, but there were so many of them and they were hungry…” He trails off and Raven squeezes his hand. “I’ve never been so happy to be home.” 

Clarke hopes Bellamy will feel the same way when he walks through the gate. She can’t lose him to the fog of war again. That night, she curls around her babies and prays. Most of Bellamy’s unit made it back and they brought his horse but not his head – she takes it as a good sign. 

Three more days pass and then there’s a distant yell. “Gonas!” Clarke hears them cry. _Warriors_. Without a word, Raven grabs her elbow and helps her to her feet.

Clarke’s breathing is labored as they slowly make their way to the gate. Her heart feels like it’s caught in her throat, or like it might beat its way out of her chest, or rip a path through her lungs in its quest to reach Bellamy. She’s grateful for Raven’s arm, even without the added weight of the pregnancy.

He’s there when they reach the yard, covered in blood and dirt, with fire in his eyes. There’s a woman wearing a shadowcat cloak a few feet in front of him, kneeling in the dirt and bound at the wrists. There’s a thin circle of twisted metal sitting on her brow and Clarke realizes it’s the _heda_ of the Ice Clan. They can end this war without more death.

Bellamy notices her and even from this distance Clarke can see the change in his eyes. The sparks cool, the flames die, and he looks at her with nothing but triumph. He did it. He came home to her. 

He gives the leash to Echo and takes off at a run, slowing down just before he’s on her. Clarke sees the significance, how she greeted him so many years ago, but the circumstances have changed. There are two lives caught between them, and he can’t slam into her to make sure that she’s there. He drops to his knees instead, stares up at her with shining dark eyes before resting his cheek against the soft cotton of her t-shirt. The babies realize what’s happening and come to life, visible kicks poking through the thin fabric of her shirt, and Bellamy laughs, tears brimming in his eyes. He pushes to his feet and wraps her in a hug that feels like coming home.

“I love you,” he says and buries his head in the curve of her shoulder. “I love all of you so much.”

Clarke cradles his cheeks in her hands, smiles up into his dirty face. “Let’s go home.”

His smile is blinding. “I can’t think of anything I want more.” 

She can’t either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got crazy long and has been broken into two. Part I will go up today, Part II on Sunday. Thank you as always for the wonderful support for this fic. Enjoy.


	9. Chapter 9

 

* * *

 

Bellamy’s home ten minutes before Miller comes for him, spewing apologies and looking like he wants to be anywhere else. There’s a mission to debrief and a _heda’s_ fate to determine and little time to waste. No one wants the Ice Clans to retaliate. 

“Duty calls,” Bellamy says and drops a kiss to Clarke’s forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I’ll be here,” she calls to his retreating back, and he turns to blow her a kiss before hurrying to catch up with Miller.

It hits her like a slap, the slam of the door, and she rests her head on her folded arms and cries. They’re not tears of happiness, but relief. All those weeks, all that fear, all that worrying…it pours out of her in a flood of emotion. 

It gives her a headache too and she naps away the afternoon and most of the evening. Bellamy looks exhausted when he walks through the door, with bloodshot eyes and dark circles gathering underneath them, so Clarke pulls back the covers and pats the mattress.

There are things to discuss, the choices he made without her, but right now, she only wants him at her side. He slips out of his clothes and slides into bed and everything feels right in her world. Bellamy is where he belongs and she curls as best she can against the hard muscles of his back.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” he says but Clarke shushes him.

“We’ll talk later,” she says. “Sleep. Heal. That’s all I want you to do.”

Three years ago she would have pushed, asked the questions that need answers, but tonight she gives him what he needs. She puts her arms around him so he doesn’t have to be afraid.

 

* * *

 

They share a cup of tea at dawn.

The front window is open and pale light falls across Bellamy’s hands as he pours the hot water. They’re scraped and bruised, but strong and capable as ever. Clarke hopes she can be as steady.

“Morning,” Clarke says and adds some honey to her tea. 

“Morning,” Bellamy responds and she feels the warm rumble of his voice all through her chest. It makes it even harder for her to confront him.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” she finally says. “You let yourself be taken. You had no way of knowing that you’d succeed.” 

“Thanks for believing in me.” There’s a note of humor in his voice and it only makes Clarke’s blood boil. He still doesn’t see the damage he might have caused.

“Just because you did it once doesn’t mean you could do it again.” She puts down her mug and it rattles against the tabletop because her hands are shaking so hard. “I’m weeks away from delivering your babies, Bellamy. What were you thinking?”

“You didn’t see them,” he says quietly. “The Ice Clans…they make the Reapers look tame. There were people, our people, dying all around me, and all I could see was you.” He reaches across the table to grip her hands. “I’d make the same choice again if it meant keeping you and the twins safe.”

“You scared me so much.”

“I’m sorry for that.” 

Clarke shakes her head. “I can’t do this without you.” 

He smiles at her, the blinding smile that stole her heart so many years ago. “You can. You don’t want to, but you can. That’s what I was thinking.” He gets up from the table so he can crouch before her. “You’re Clarke kom Skaikru. There’s nothing you can’t do.”

His face is a brilliant light through the blur of her tears. “You promise?”

“I knew it from the moment I met you. Why do you think I pulled you out of that Grounder pit? It wasn’t because of your charm. If we were going to make it, I knew I needed you by my side.”

Clarke laughs through her tears. “And here I thought you just wanted my wristband…”

Bellamy smiles and it might be the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. “Nah. I wanted the princess.” He nods at the ever-expanding swell of her abdomen. “Guess I got her in the end.” He grips her hands and tugs her to her feet. “Your tea’s getting cold.”

“I don’t care.”

The angle is still awkward, but Clarke kisses him for real, all teeth and tongue, and twines her fingers through his hair. They’re both breathing hard when they pull away. “Next time we talk about it.”

He smiles again and presses a butterfly kiss to her mouth. “Hopefully there won’t be a next time.”

She smiles back. “I like the sound of that.” 

Peace. For the first time in a long time, it feels like a real possibility.

 

* * *

 

Abby comes by before Bellamy leaves for the Alliance meeting. They’re determining the _heda_ – Decla’s – fate and he’s not sure how to vote: an execution sends a strong message, but it won’t solve the conflict between their peoples.

“You’re good to go, kiddo,” Abby says.

“What does that mean?” Clarke asks as Bellamy helps her sit up.

“It means that you made it to thirty-seven weeks.” 

“So I can go to the Alliance meeting?” 

Abby nods. “Your life’s about to change in a big way. You should go live it while you still can.”

Clarke grabs Bellamy’s arm. “Help me up. I need to get to that meeting before Indra impales Decla on a spike.”

She feels light on her feet when they’re finally on the floor, even if she can’t put on her boots without assistance. All those months of bed rest weren’t easy, but it means she can attend this meeting. If Bellamy risked his life to defeat the enemy, she needs to be there to end the war.

Her mom watches quietly as Bellamy ties Clarke’s laces, a strange smile on her face. When Bellamy gets up to help her to the door, Abby gathers him in a hug. “I’m so glad that you’re okay.”

Bellamy looks dumbfounded, then slowly wraps his arms around her. “Thank you for taking care of her when I couldn’t.”

Abby’s teary as she gazes up at him. “That’s what family is for.” She wipes at her eyes and gives them a watery smile. “I’ll let you get to your meeting.”

It’s Clarke’s turn to cry. Bellamy’s home, her children are healthy, she’s made peace with her mom. It makes her gasp for breath. She’s learned well that what life gives, it takes away in equal measure.

“What? Is everything okay with the babies?” Bellamy’s eyes are wide with worry.

“My mom hugged you and you hugged her back!”

Bellamy laughs and slings his arm over her shoulder. “I think it’s called progress.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” 

They pass a patch of crocuses on their walk to the town hall and Clarke’s reminded of that day three years ago when she kissed Bellamy in a field and set all this in motion. Back then she just wanted to kiss a boy amid the flowers but now it’s her life. It’s not what she expected but it’s exactly what she wants.

 

* * *

 

Clarke also argues for progress during the meeting.

The Grounders are predictable: Indra pushes for death, Kane argues for life, and Lexa’s stone-faced as she watches the proceedings. Clarke tries to gauge her feelings, but her expression reveals nothing. 

“Indra, please get to the point.” Abby tiredly rubs her temples.

Indra lost a dozen warriors in the battle and her anger is palpable. “I want what is mine,” she sneers. “Jus drein jus daun.” _Blood demands blood._

Kane sighs. “We want justice too, Indra, but without provoking the enemy. We can’t afford another war.”

“He’s right,” Bellamy jumps in. “We can’t poke the beast. We need to send a message without shedding more blood.”

It feels like a losing battle. If they send Decla back, she’ll lose her head at her own people’s hands. If they keep her, they’re asking to be attacked. Clarke absently strokes her belly while she thinks. There has to be something they have…

“We take their children,” she says softly. She hasn’t even birthed hers but she knows how she’d feel if they were taken: enraged, terrified, _empty_. She’d do anything to get them back, make any deal, any trade. “One each week until they agree to peace. I know it’s cruel, but it’s better than war.” Her idea hangs in the air for a long moment, but then Indra nods and Clarke knows she’s won. 

“I stole their _heda_ ,” Echo says fiercely. “I will take their children too.” She immediately looks to Bellamy but he shakes his head. 

“I’m gonna sit this one out.” 

She nods without malice. “Ste yo goufas.” _Be with your children_.

Kane takes over to delegate tasks. “Echo, choose your team. Bellamy, you’ll coordinate the mission and share your intel. Are there any questions?” 

The meeting breaks and the participants scatter to their tasks, but Clarke remains behind, staring absently at a hangnail on her thumb. She can’t believe the proposal she just made.

“That was brave of you.” Bellamy takes the seat beside hers.

“They’ll be treated well, right?” 

“We’re taking prisoners, not hostages. I’ll see to it.” 

She buries her face in her hands. “Kids, Bell. I told our army to take _kids_.”

“You’re protecting ours.” 

She leans into him, breathes in the scent of his soap and the spring air that clings to his skin. She wishes the right choice didn’t feel so incredibly wrong.

 

* * *

 

There’ll be no formal celebration until the peace treaty is signed, but there is a small gathering by the north fire. Clarke attends with Bellamy and it’s a good distraction from all the children she asked her warriors to kidnap. 

Bellamy raises his eyebrows when Raven waves at Clarke, but she smiles and kisses his cheek. “I’ll tell you later.” 

“I can’t believe you’re still pregnant,” Raven says when Clarke sits down next to her.

She can’t either. “The twins were waiting for Bellamy too.” One of them kicks and it actually hurts. “But now that he’s home, they can come out any time.”

Raven laughs and takes a sip of her moonshine. “Who’s the grounder getting handsy with your man?”

Clarke glances across the clearing and sees Echo standing with Bellamy by the keg. He says something and she laughs, touches his arm too. Clarke grits her teeth and wishes she had a cup of moonshine to throw at her. “She’s one of Indra’s warriors. They have a past.”

“Want me to get rid of that hand? Even with the brace, she won’t see me coming.” Raven stretches her left leg and flexes her foot to prove her point.

Clarke shakes her head. “No thanks. She’s annoying but harmless. I trust Bellamy.”

“You’re a bigger woman than me.”

“Don’t you know it.” Clarke pats her belly for emphasis and it makes them both laugh.

It’s the kind of laugh shared by old friends, friends who’ve weathered storms and survived, learned to forgive rather than walk away. Clarke decides to seize the moment, confess the truth about their friendship that she’s been holding in. “I mean what I said in the dropship: I’d still pick you.

Raven’s slow to respond and Clarke thinks she might be crying but it’s hard to tell in the dim light. Either way, she blinks rapidly. “I’d pick you too.”

They stare at each other for a long moment before laughing again, and they’re still laughing when Raven nudges Clarke with her elbow. “Check it out!” Bellamy’s been drawn into a conversation with Miller and Penn, but Echo’s heading towards Lexa. They’re sharing such a heated look that it makes Clarke blush. “Did you see that coming?”

“No, no I did not.” She watches Echo take a seat beside Lexa, watches the two women share the kind of secretive smile that’s only exchanged between lovers. 

Raven shrugs. “Maybe she wants to get on the Commander’s good side?”

Clarke remembers Lexa’s words at Finn’s funeral, _“I lost someone special to me too…because she was mine they tortured her, killed her, cut off her head.”_

“I think we should let them have this,” Clarke says softly. “It’s hard running things. It’s harder to lose the people you love because of it.”

“Secret’s safe with me,” Raven swears. “Does Bellamy know that he’s a beard?’

“That’s another thing that should stay between us.” It’s not that he’d judge, but Clarke knows how much he hates being lied to. 

They continue sitting in companionable silence, watching Echo and Lexa do their best to ignore each other, until a sharp pain flares in Clarke’s back. She bends forward to ease the tension.

“Everything okay?”

“False contractions.”

“Are you sure?” When Clarke arches her back, Raven’s looking at her suspiciously. “How can you tell if they’re the real thing?

“If they don’t stop, call my mom.”

“More Braxton-Hicks?” Harper sits down on Clarke’s other side.

Clarke nods, bends over again. Harper’s almost through her first trimester and just beginning to show. Her face has swelled, but her hair is thick and shiny and her skin glows. It’s barely a secret even if she and Penn haven’t officially shared the news. “I’m so ready for this to be over.”

“Penn’s people say you can fuck them out.” She makes a motion too in case they didn’t understand. They stare at her for a moment, but then Raven cackles and it’s infectious. Soon they’re all laughing, the kind of full-bodied laugh that makes Clarke bury her face in Raven’s shoulder to keep from falling off the log.

“What’s so funny?” Bellamy appears out of nowhere and it only makes them laugh harder. He plants his hands on his hips. “Don’t think I didn’t see that contraction. The princess has had enough fun for one night.”

Bellamy isn’t the boss of her, but in this case he’s right. If the contractions are real, it’s not a good idea to go into labor in a field of drunken soldiers. He gently grasps her elbow and pulls her to her feet and Clarke throws a quick wave in Raven and Harper’s direction to say goodbye.

Bellamy drapes an arm over her shoulders and pulls her close so his lips catch in her hair. “About what Harper said? I think we need to give it a try.”

They practically sprint in their race to get home.

 

* * *

 

The babies don’t come that night, or the one after it, or even the one after that, despite their best efforts, but on the first day of her thirty-eighth week, Clarke wakes up with a pain in her back. She groans and goes back to sleep but the contractions aren’t going away and they’re coming closer together.

“Bellamy,” she whispers. He mumbles sleepily and pulls his pillow over his head. He’s been working long days and it’s still a few hours before dawn, but they don’t have a choice in the matter. Gently, she tugs the pillow away and presses her mouth to his ear. “Bell, get up. Your babies are coming.”

To say he springs into action would be an understatement, but all in all, there’s not much to do but wait. Clarke lies in bed. She takes a walk. She drinks chamomile tea for the pain, and later, a crampbark tincture for uterine cramping. Her mom and Nyko pop in every now and then, before taking up residence once active labor begins. Bellamy sips a cup of moonshine and tries not to panic. 

“It’s okay,” Clarke tells him after a particularly rough contraction. “Just this once, there’s nothing you can do to help.”

He laughs and brushes sweaty hair from her brow. “Whatever you say, Princess.”

When it’s time to push, Nyko helps her to the birthing stool and Bellamy wraps his arms around her while she strains against his chest.

Clarke doesn’t have many memories of the actual birth, just a haze of pain and an excruciating desire to push, but she can remember, with absolute clarity, the moment her daughter cries. 

She’s bearing down and her mom’s saying that they can see the head and then she pushes again and all she feels is a sense of release. And then, the cry: thin and reedy, then loud and piercing as her daughter makes herself known. Bellamy’s blinking back his own tears as he cuts the cord.

“It’s a girl,” Abby says and holds up a red, squawking bundle. “A healthy girl.” Clarke aches to hold her, but the pressure in her belly isn’t gone and there’s another baby to deliver.

Bellamy holds their daughter while Clarke delivers their son, and he’s not as big as his sister, but equally healthy. She wants to hold him too, but there’s still more work to do. Nyko massages her abdomen to loosen the placenta and within minutes it’s out and all that’s left is holding her babies. He leaves with the afterbirth and a vague promise of preserving it.

With her mom’s help, she changes into a new nightgown and shuffles to the bed; across the room, three dark-haired figures watch her closely. Her _family_. Her chest feels tight in the best ways.

Bellamy tucks a baby into the crook of each arm then slides in next to her. “You amaze me,” he says, but he’s looking at his children.

Clarke’s very tired but she isn’t ready to sleep yet and, in a few minutes, she’ll have to feed both babies. She gazes at the two lives she brought into the world. “They amaze me more.” 

Later, after Abby’s shown Clarke how to nurse and with Bellamy’s help, actually does it, Octavia comes to meet her new niece and nephew. She was away on a training mission with Indra while the babies were being born, but now that she’s there, she can’t stop staring at them. 

“They’re so tiny,” she whispers and reaches out so her nephew can clasp her finger in his hand. 

Bellamy gives her shoulder a squeeze. “You were even smaller.”

“Have you chosen names?”

Clarke and Bellamy exchange a look. They’d finally agreed that since Clarke would be doing all the work, she would choose. She brushes soft curls from her daughter’s brow. “Terra, for the ground that saved us.” She runs a finger down her son’s silken cheek. “River, for the water that sustains us.” She looks at Bellamy and smiles. “I thought you could pick their middle names.”

He takes Terra from Clarke. “Aurora,” he says to Octavia. “For Mom.” He bends down to press a kiss to River’s forehead. “Jacob, for Clarke’s dad,” he tells Abby. 

“They’re perfect,” Clarke says and she doesn’t just mean the names. 

Octavia, brave, warrior princess Octavia, bursts into tears, and Bellamy looks like he might cry again too. Instead, he asks if she’d like to hold her niece. His sister’s still sniffling as he leads her to a chair and gently places his daughter in her arms. “She looks like mom,” Octavia says. Clarke thinks Terra looks like a little old man, but lets Octavia have her moment. 

Abby carefully sits on the bed and gazes down at River. “Your dad would be so proud.” 

Clarke smiles down at her son. “I’m glad Bellamy gave him his name.” _River Jacob_ , she thinks. The past and the present, but also the promise of a future. Her dad never got to see earth, but she thinks he’d like the world she’s helped shape. She catches Bellamy’s eye and smiles. Together, they can make that world even better for their babies.


	10. Chapter 10

 

* * *

 

The first few days are a blur and if Clarke was asked to describe them, she’d probably say blissful exhaustion. She’s very happy to have her babies, but too sleep-deprived to remember it well. When Abby and Octavia left that first night, Clarke and Bellamy had looked at each, then the babies sleeping peacefully in their cradles. It was equal parts “we made these amazing creatures” and “oh my god, what have we done?” Clarke’s not sure she’ll ever stop feeling that way.

No one warned them about how much work newborns are. They eat twelve times a day, sometimes even more, and there are two of them. The first week, Clarke sleeps maybe an hour each night because all she does is nurse her children.

“Tell me,” she says to Bellamy during a bleary-eyed, 4:00 am feeding. “Have I sprouted spots or grown another stomach? Because I feel like a cow.” 

She’s nursing Terra while Bellamy holds River, the baby gumming on his finger while he waits. “You look like a goddess.” He’s lying. She hasn’t washed her hair in days, it’s likely full of spit up, and there are definitely milk stains all over her clothes. 

“You’re a terrible liar.” Terra unlatches and Clarke exchanges her for River while Bellamy deals with the burping. 

He smiles wearily. “Clarke, you’re single-handedly keeping our kids alive. That’s pretty awe inspiring.”

She winces as River latches on particularly hard and adjusts his head. His sister’s a pro, but they’re still getting the hang of nursing. “I kept telling myself that I’d have my body back once the twins were born.” She laughs tiredly. 

Bellamy cradles a drowsy Terra and rocks her softly to sleep. “One day, they’ll be able to feed themselves and you’ll miss these moments.” He presses a soft kiss to Terra’s forehead and it makes Clarke’s chest tight just from seeing him with their daughter.

One day she’ll have her body back but her heart will never be her own again.

 

* * *

 

In the days after the babies are born, half the camp comes to meet them. Bellamy orders their guests to wash their hands before touching the babies, but Clarke worries her boobs will leak as her milk comes down. She’s happy to see her friends, but overwhelmed by the steady stream of visitors. 

Jasper examines the twins as they nap on the bed. They’re curled around each other like they were in the womb, a snuggly mess of arms and legs that makes Clarke’s heart swell each time she lays eyes on them. “How do you tell them apart?” 

“I just do,” Clarke says. It’s been less than a week but her babies are showing distinct personalities. Terra is expressive and open, while River is quiet and stoic. 

“And they have different parts,” Bellamy adds. “Always a good indicator.” 

Monty peers down at River and clucks him under his chin. “Why so serious?” It’s way too soon for the baby to smile, but he kind of wiggles in place and Monty’s face lights up. 

It makes Clarke light up too, seeing everyone she cares about with her babies.

 

* * *

 

It gets a little easier.

Clarke learns how to manage tandem nursing and it significantly cuts down on feeding time, which means she sleeps more, sometimes even three hours a night. It’s an incredible experience, the bond she’s forming with her babies, but it’s also exceedingly strange. 

“If he were anyone else, we’d have problems,” Bellamy says as River nurses, one tiny fist resting against Clarke’s breast. For so many years, her boobs were these things for her to lug around or Bellamy to play with, and now they’re feeding a child. It will probably always be somewhat bizarre.

Then, the rush of hormones begins to taper off. Even with the tandem nursing, Clarke isn’t getting enough sleep and as soon as one baby’s settled, the other needs something. They need and need, and her nerves are beyond frayed. She can’t believe she ever lamented those long weeks of bed rest – she’d _kill_ for just one moment alone.

Bellamy’s done this before and it shows. He handles laundry and cooking and dirty diapers and wraps Wick in a bear hug when he comes to meet the twins. Those rubber pants are truly the greatest invention the world has ever seen. Mostly, he helps with the babies. He isn’t terrified of dropping them or holding their heads wrong. He’s a master swaddler. He knows how often they need to be fed and how to burp them. He even gives Clarke pointers about how the twins should latch on while nursing. “It’s not like I _want_ to know this stuff,” he says; the tips of his ears are a bright, humiliated red. “But it’s hard to forget. My mom needed my help.” He was a boy then, a six-year-old roped into raising his sister, but he’s a man when it comes to his own children – he chooses to help his partner.

The twins are three weeks old when he steps out for a bit and comes back with a wooden rocking chair. “I had it made for you,” he says, watches her from under his lashes. It’s a thing he does when he’s nervous, like when he gave her the storybook, but Clarke’s reaction is just as authentic. “I’m sorry it’s late, but I needed the twins’ names.”

She looks more closely at the headrest and sees a small stream beside River’s name, a small tree next to Terra’s. She’s holding her while her brother naps, walking circles to help her fall asleep, and even though she’s petrified of waking a sleeping baby, Clarke slips carefully into the rocker. “Bell,” she whispers. “Thank you so much.” 

“I thought you might appreciate it.”

“I appreciate you. I know our lives have been crazy, but you’re still my person.”

“That’s good. Because you’re the only one for me.”

Their eyes lock, and if Clarke wasn’t wearing a goofy grin, she’d be embarrassed by the identical smile on Bellamy’s face. 

Terra cries and never wanting to be left out, River joins her. “Duty calls,” Bellamy says and picks up his son. He hands the baby to his mother and gently rocks the chair with his foot while he gazes down at his family. It’s a moment Clarke wants to save forever.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy returns to work after four weeks. Kane gave him a month to bond with his babies, but the army needs him too. Echo’s mission has been successful and there are three Brukru _goufas_ in their camp. Bellamy’s in charge of staving off an offensive should the Ice Clans retaliate. 

“We’ll be fine,” Clarke tells him as he packs his bag. She’s holding Terra while rocking River’s cradle. They just finished their first feeding of the day and her daughter’s having some trouble falling back asleep. 

Bellamy looks unconvinced. “I’m still coming home at lunch.” He bends down to gently nuzzle Terra’s forehead and blows a kiss in River’s direction. He pauses in the doorway, all that morning sun glowing fiery and gold around him, and sends them one last longing look. “I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

“Eight hours,” Clarke reminds him. “You go save the world. I’ll hold down the fort.”

His smile is regretful as he steps outside and closes the door behind him. Clarke gazes down at Terra, still wide-awake in her arms. “Alright, baby girl. What should we do now?”

Much to Clarke’s dismay, things are not fine. She didn’t realize how much of a support Bellamy was until he’s gone and there’s no one to fill his shoes. Their friends and family had offered, but Clarke had insisted on doing it herself – how hard could it be to change diapers and nurse babies?

It’s really, really hard. Without assistance, she struggles to position the babies right and nursing is a mess. There’s a pile of laundry in the middle of the floor and no time to deal with it. Terra doesn’t settle and spends most of her time crying. Crying and crying and making her mother and brother’s lives hell. She only wants to be held and Clarke doesn’t think it’s fair to leave River alone, so her back aches from wearing two babies all day long. Bellamy asks about the enormous circles under her eyes and general irritability, but she claims exhaustion and even manages a weak smile. His jaw locks in a way that means he doesn’t believe her, but she’s too tired to care. She brought down an army that had military-grade weapons and secured peace with murderous locals. She can get a _baby_ to stop crying. 

Terra doesn’t stop crying. She wails and screams and sometimes River joins in, and Clarke reaches her breaking point. It’s been raining all week and only made the situation worse – when she doesn’t have a pressure headache, the thunder wakes the babies. Bellamy comes home just before lunch to pick up his oilcloth slicker and finds her slumped along the back wall, Terra in her arms while River naps peacefully on the bed. Her daughter isn’t asleep but she’s quiet, mercifully quiet, as Clarke rocks her back and forth.

Bellamy might have taken it for a sweet domestic moment if not for the tears streaming down Clarke’s cheeks. She needs a break, one minute for herself, when no one wants anything from her. No crying babies, no pile of laundry, no meals to cook or mouths to feed, just a quiet minute to sit and think and remember whom Clarke Griffin is.

“Clarke?” he asks and crouches down in front of her.

She can see him, even through the blur of tears, but doesn’t have the energy to respond. She keeps rocking Terra, slow, even motions, and prays her baby’s eyes will finally close. 

“Don’t move.” Clarke barely registers the panic in his voice, just keeps rocking while he takes off at a run.

Abby’s there a few minutes later, kneeling in front of her daughter while Bellamy looks on worriedly from behind. “Clarke?”

The voice is distant, but it breaks through when Abby strokes Clarke’s hair back from her brow. “She won’t stop crying, Mom,” she whispers through her tears. “Why won’t she stop crying?”

“I’m going to help,” Abby promises and gestures at Bellamy to get River off the bed. “Let’s put Terra in her cradle.” She tries to pick up the baby but Clarke holds on tight. “Honey, you need to let go.” Very gently, Abby extricates Terra and hands her to Bellamy. Finally free, Clarke sinks back against the wall and closes her eyes.

When she wakes, she feels better than she has in days. Later, Bellamy will tell her she slept through many things, including a sponge bath and feeding the twins, but for the moment she’s just relieved that she can open her eyes without effort.

Across the cabin, she sees Abby trying to soothe Terra to sleep. Clarke feels guilty for thinking it, but it’s so nice that someone else is dealing with her daughter’s tantrums.

“You should have told me,” Bellamy says. He’s sitting in a chair by the bed, arms crossed firmly over his chest. He looks relieved but also very pissed. “She’s my daughter too. Thankfully it’s only colic, but what if something was seriously wrong?”

Clarke thinks she might cry. She’s studied medicine. She knows things about babies and their development. How could she miss something like this? “Colic?” The guilt settles into her chest like a lead weight. 

Bellamy’s face changes, the anger replaced with frustration. “You can’t keep things from me, Clarke. We’re a team, remember?”

She glares at him mutinously and crosses her arms over her chest. She’s the one stuck home with the babies all day. Who’s he to judge her? Abby notices and hurries over to lay a gentle hand on Bellamy’s shoulder. It only makes Clarke more furious, how they’re teaming up against her. “It’s my fault too. I shouldn’t have believed her when she said she could do it alone.”

Bellamy eyes narrow. “You told me that your mom was too busy.” Abby sighs heavily.

“They’re just babies,” Clarke insists. “If I can run a country, I can take care of my own children!”

“No, you can’t.” Abby sits beside her daughter on the bed. “Clarke, it’s okay to ask for help.”

Clarke shakes her head, blinks back frustrated tears. “Everyone else is doing it on their own. Why shouldn’t I?”

Abby pats her hand. “Everyone else doesn’t have twins. It’s hard enough making sure one baby has what it needs let alone two of them.”

“No, I can do this – ”

“Princess,” Bellamy cuts in. “It’s not about you. This situation is bad for everyone, the babies especially. They need a healthy mom and right now, you’re not it.”

She wants to fight back, but there are two of them and one of her, and like most things since the twins were born, the majority rules. She agrees to accept offers of assistance from their family and friends. She agrees that Abby will come by in the mornings until she establishes a routine. She agrees that Bellamy will take the twins at lunch and for those thirty minutes, she has to be anywhere but the cabin. Mostly, she agrees to ask for help if she thinks she can’t do something by herself.

That night, Bellamy brings the twins in bed with them and they curl onto their sides to watch the babies sleep. “It’s not that I don’t think you can do it,” he says. “But you don’t need to be a martyr. It takes a lot more courage to ask for help than turn it down.”

“You asked for help.”

“And you said yes. We’re going to get through this, Clarke, but you have to let me in.”

She turns her attention to Terra, finally asleep after wearing herself out. “It’s hard for me, losing control.” And maybe that’s the problem – she’s not the one in control. Her babies are living, breathing bundles of need. They take and take and what they give isn’t measured, but felt, and it doesn’t always feel like enough. 

“Sometimes it’s nice not having to make the rules.” He tugs River’s shirt down to cover his belly. “It’s going to get better. I promise.”

She smiles at him over their slumbering babies. He’s made lots of promises and he hasn’t broken one yet.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy’s right, and life does get better, mostly because of her walks, and but also because of the additional help. Some days she does little more than breathe in the spring air, but other days she finds an isolated corner and cries. There’s also a firm schedule of support staff posted next to the front door. Some visitors come for an hour and some for only ten minutes, but long enough for Clarke to catch her breath. 

Abby pops by in the morning after Bellamy leaves and helps her daughter feed the babies. Clarke’s able to manage tandem nursing on her own, but it’s always nice to have company, especially since most visitors stop by after lunch. She’s coping better with the twins’ demands, but those feelings of isolation are harder to shake. 

“Here, I’ll take him,” Abby says and props River over her shoulder to burp. At six weeks, they’re starting to look more like people and less like tiny aliens. They both have caps of dark hair and deep, blue eyes and while their hair will probably stay the same, Clarke’s hoping at least one of them gets her eyes. At the moment, they both favor their father’s side.

“That’s a good boy,” Abby croons and tickles River’s belly. He smiles at her, a real smile, and it makes Abby laugh. “I remember when you were this age,” she says softly. “You weren’t so different from Terra – you just wanted to be held.”

“Really?” Clarke’s never thought of herself as overly affectionate, but anyone who saw her post-dropship reunion with Bellamy would probably beg to differ. She’s become a hugger.

Abby laughs. “When you weren’t eating, your dad was walking around with you.”

It doesn’t hurt anymore, the mention of Jake. Instead it’s a soft flutter, a warm memory settling in Clarke’s chest. “I wish he was here to see them.” She hopes her mom understands that her comment is without malice. She’s not trying to be mean, but honesty is an important component of the relationship they’re rebuilding.

“Me too,” Abby says and brushes her fingers down River’s cheek. He smiles again, bright and happy, and it makes Clarke smile back. On good days she could spend hours just smiling at her babies. “I like to think that he’s watching though.”

“I hope so.” Terra cries out, annoyed that she’s finished eating and no one noticed, and Abby quickly takes her for a burp. It’s loud and belching and both women look at her in amazement. “That’s not very ladylike,” Clarke mock-scolds her.

Abby just shakes her head and places the baby back on the bed. “Honey, take this from someone who used to change your diapers and clean your vomit out of my hair: nothing about babies is ladylike. Let’s talk again when she starts eating the garbage.”

Clarke buries her head in her hands. “Does it ever end?”

“No, it really doesn’t,” Abby says and presses a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “No matter how old you are, you’ll always be my baby.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Clarke rests her head on her mom’s shoulder, watches her babies get tangled up in each other.

“I’m so glad you let me back in.”

“How could I not?” It’s more than wanting her mother back in her life, or the help she provides. She wants to give her children everything, all the things she had growing up, and especially a grandmother that wants nothing more than to love them.

 

* * *

 

“Do they ever do anything?” Octavia asks one afternoon. Her training schedule doesn't allow for frequent visits, but she drops by when she can. The twins are currently lying on a blanket while Clarke folds diapers at the table. 

Clarke laughs. “My mom swears they’ll be more interesting by three months. Right now, they don’t have the motor skills to do much but lay there. You missed tummy time.”

“Tummy time?”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like.” Clarke doesn’t mean for it to come out bitter, but she misses the adult responsibilities of her old life. Octavia’s looking at her sadly, so she puts down the diapers and kneels down beside the blanket. “I’ll show you how we exercise.” 

She presses a kiss to River’s belly and gasps when he laughs. He’s starting to do it in response to her rather than whatever’s happening in his head, and it makes her forget about all the drama he and his sister cause. The impact of that laugh…she probably could have brought down the mountain with just her giggling baby. “Like this,” she adds and grasps a foot in each hand, watches Octavia do the same with Terra. Slowly, she rotates River’s legs like the bicycles Wick and Raven built last summer, eyes and mouth open wide to mimic his expression. Octavia doesn’t quite have the facial movements right, but she’s quite good at helping Terra through the motions. 

“This is fun,” Octavia says. “Can I hold her again?”

“Sure.” 

Clarke shows Octavia how to support Terra’s head before picking up River. He likes peeking over her shoulder to take it all in, but he’s a drooler, so she slips a cloth under his cheek. 

“Wanna take a walk?” Octavia asks. “I have some time before I need to be back.”

“It’s like you read my mind.” Between the rain and her breakdown, getting out of the house without Bellamy has been almost impossible, so she nearly jumps at the chance to enjoy the sunshine. Still, it’s a process. The twins need hats and getting them into their carriers is never easy and Terra keeps fussing as they prepare to leave.

“Is this what you deal with every day?” Octavia sways back and forth, trying to stem the wailing. It rakes down Clarke’s spine, sharp and piercing, each of her baby’s cries, but she forces herself to ignore it. Abby assures her that colic is harder on the parents than child, and that while Terra looks miserable, her basic needs are being met. 

“She’ll grow out of it.” Clarke practically pushes Octavia out the front door. “It hurts – it literally hurts – to hear her cry, but there’s nothing I can do except wait it out.” She steers them towards the fence to walk a quick loop around the perimeter. 

Octavia’s quiet as Terra’s eyelids flutter on the verge of sleep. “I might be Indra’s second, but I don’t think I could handle this.”

“You just do it,” Clarke says. “They didn’t ask to be brought into this world. Bellamy and I made that choice. Even when it’s hard, we don’t get to give up.”

“I’m still not ready.”

“If you change your mind, you’re not half bad at it.” 

“For now, I’m happy to just be Auntie O.” She bends down to share an eskimo kiss with her nephew.

Clarke coos to River. “And we’re so lucky to have her, right?” As he probably will for most of his childhood, her son ignores her and continues sucking on his fist.

“I like his style,” Octavia says and Clarke bumps her lightly with her hip. 

“Please don’t encourage him.” 

They both laugh and continue their walk, two women and two babies in the sunshine. It’s easy to forget how hard her life’s been on such a beautiful day.

 

* * *

 

Raven also makes regular appearances in the twins’ lives. “How’re the mobiles working out?” She gives Terra’s a good spin. The colic having run its course, she’s a different baby. The endless crying has mostly stopped and she’s learning to self-soothe. Abby’s hopeful that it will be completely over by three months. Terra giggles and Clarke comes over to investigate. “They’re so great, Raven. Really good for developing their eyesight.” 

“I’m glad.” They leave the babies to share a cup of tea at the table. “How are you feeling these days?” 

“Better. So much better. I didn’t realize how much I missed being me. It’s amazing what a few minutes of fresh air or a shower can do.”

Raven smiles. “I’m glad to hear it. And you know, what about the other stuff?” She waggles her eyebrows in a way that makes Clarke laugh.

“I just got the go ahead from my mom.” She ignores the flush staining her cheeks and presses on. “So tonight, I think.” 

“Did you forget how to do it? Don’t sound so excited.”

“What if the twins see us and it scars them for life?”

Raven looks at her like she’s lost her mind. “They’re two months old, Clarke. They can’t see more than a foot in front of them.” She narrows her eyes and studies Clarke’s face. “What’s really going on?”

It takes her a long time to respond. Talking about her feelings isn’t easy for her either. “What if it’s not the same?” 

“Have you seen your boobs? They’re like eight times the size they were when you got pregnant.”

Raven’s comment makes Clarke smile. Bellamy hasn’t stopped talking about them either. “I’m not worried about that stuff. I know he still finds me attractive. It’s just… _babies_ came out of me. What if things are different down there?”

“I know nothing of giving birth, but I do know something of rebooting a relationship. Talk. Communicate. Tell Bellamy how you feel.”

It’s Clarke’s turn to stare at her friend like she’s lost her mind. “Who are you and what have you done with Raven Reyes?”

Raven rolls her eyes. “I slept with Wick a few months after Finn died. He was there and willing and for a long time I thought it would fuck everything up. It meant nothing to me but a lot to him, and it took years to get back to where we started. If we’d just talked about – ” Clarke giggles. “– it’s true. If I’d just said what I was feeling, I could have avoided a lot of heartbreak. It’s still hard for me, but he hasn’t left yet.” 

Clarke cringes. “Can I really talk to Bellamy about my vagina?”

Raven smothers her laugh with her hand to keep from waking the babies. “That’s your problem.” She takes a long look at Clarke. “But I can do something with that hair. When was the last time you cut it?”

“I think the better question is when did I last wash it?”

“Guess I have my work cut out for me.”

Using the tub and a pitcher, Raven washes Clarke’s hair with rose-scented shampoo and trims the ends, adding a few layers around her face, and helps her take a sponge bath. There’s not much they can do about Clarke’s wardrobe, but at least she smells better. 

“Be good for mommy,” she says to Terra as she tickles her belly. “She needs this. Good luck!” she adds and kisses the top of River’s head on her way out. “I want to hear all the juicy details tomorrow.”

As it turns out, there’s not much to report. Bellamy comes home and makes dinner, does the dishes while she feeds the twins. He helps with their baths and reads them a story, and helps with another feeding before tucking them into their cradles.

His eyes are thin slits as he makes his way to their bed and he flops down face first while Clarke tries not to laugh. She’s wearing only a tank top and underwear, her hair falling around her shoulders in gentle waves, and Bellamy’s more interested in his pillow. He does have the energy to curl around her and pull her snug against his chest. It’s a good fit, like it was before the babies.

“Night,” she says and presses a quick kiss to his wrist. 

“You smell nice,” he mumbles, then buries his face in her hair. 

Clarke laughs, a deep rumble that bubbles its way out of her chest, but he doesn’t respond because he’s fast asleep. She closes her eyes and breathes him in, soap and spring and Bellamy. He’s there, a solid support against her back, holding her up when she can’t stand on her own two feet. One day she’ll want more, but for now, it’s okay to just have this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The twins are here! Yay! I’ve split the post-partum period into two sections. Part I will focus on the first two months after the babies are born, and the second chapter will explore Clarke’s return to the work. Thanks as always for the wonderful support for this fic. Enjoy.


	11. Chapter 11

 

* * *

 

The fog lifts. It’s been ten weeks since the babies’ birth and Clarke feels like she’s beginning to see clearly. Her mom thinks it was an intense case of the baby blues or mild postpartum depression, but either way, she’s starting to feel better. 

The numbness eases, takes some of the anxiety and irritability too, and she can actually enjoy her time with the twins. She can laugh when Bellamy sings to them or Octavia tickles their bellies; she doesn’t feel immense relief when someone offers to watch a baby for a few minutes. She enjoys the small moments when she’s holding them tight, all that soft, warm weight filing her arms. She feels her heart clutch in her chest when Terra smiles at her or River laughs. 

Their closest friends and family have met the twins, but there’s been no formal meet and greet for the rest of the camp, so Clarke and Bellamy trot them out for the summer solstice feast. It’s a small gathering – travel between camps has been banned for as long as the war rages – so it’s just Sky People, but apparently it’s a big deal when the chancellor has a baby because everyone stops by her table to say hello. 

Clarke tightly grips Bellamy’s thigh to keep him from swatting people away. “Why can’t they wash their hands first?” he whines as another random citizen lets River grasp her finger in his fist. 

“A few germs are good for them,” Clarke whispers back. “It will help build their immune systems.” She moves her hand from his leg and twines her fingers in his hair, lightly scratching the back of his head with her nails. He calms down even if the annoyed look never quite leaves his face.

Clarke just soaks in the moonlight and cool summer air, bounces Terra on her knee while Bellamy manages River. Their friends come over and sip moonshine and pass babies back and forth and tell stories about all the adventures they’ve survived on earth. It’s the kind of night she wants to tuck away and remember forever.

 

* * *

 

Abby drops by while Bellamy’s out with the twins. He’s a little jealous of the bond Clarke’s forming with them, so weekends are “daddy time.” He’d left with two babies strapped to his back and a bottle of water and a quick reminder for her to enjoy her time off. She intends to, starting with her sketchbook. She hasn’t had time to draw anything since the babies were born, but she wants to capture their infant faces before they turn into real people. She’s a little disappointed when Abby appears on her doorstep, but she’s holding a box with a ribbon tied around it, and Clarke doesn’t turn her away. 

“I’m sorry they’re late, but I wanted to have them monogramed.” Abby fidgets nervously. 

Clarke keeps her smile to herself – her mom and Bellamy are so much more similar than they’ll ever know. “Oh, Mom, they’re beautiful.” The box holds two blankets, one blue and one green, with River’s name scripted on the former and Terra’s on the latter. 

“They’re called receiving blankets. In the pre-war days, babies would come home from the hospital wrapped in them, but down here, I thought they might be good for nap time.”

“They’re just what we needed.” Clarke rubs a feather-soft blanket against her cheek. River and Terra will adore them.

Abby absently picks at the wrapping paper. “I thought they’d also be a good comfort for the twins after you go back to work. Have you decided when?”

“Not yet.” She’s just gotten her bearings back; it’s too soon to upset the balance again.

“Whenever you’re ready, the job’s yours.”

“Really?” She’s shocked her mom is willing to cede her power so easily. That awful election was only two years ago.

Abby’s smile is genuine. “You’re the chancellor, Clarke. I was only keeping the chair warm.”

“I thought you’d like being in charge again.”

“I thought so too, but I now that I’m back, I realized how little I missed it.” She pauses. “I don’t like the person I become when I’m in command.”

Clarke doesn’t always like what she becomes either, but she also doesn’t trust others to make the right decisions. There are too many old timers clinging to the Exodus Charter, wanting to transplant the lives they had on the Ark directly to the ground. Clarke won’t have them choosing her people’s – her _children’s_ – fate. It’s her burden to bear but she won’t have it any other way.

 

* * *

 

Clarke’s maternity leave lasts three months. By then, the twins can make it three hours between feedings, which means Clarke has enough time to hold a meeting or tour a shop before nursing again. She thinks going back to work should be easy. It was the one thing that kept her going those long weeks she was losing her mind, but now that her return is imminent, she feels like she might lose it again. How can she leave her babies in someone else’s care?

The night before she resumes her term, she paces up and down the length of the cabin. Bellamy looks up from where he’s playing with the twins on the bed. “Let’s go through the list again,” he says.

Clarke pauses and ticks off each item on her fingers. “Diapers, blankets, toys, carriers…” She runs through the items again. “Am I missing anything?”

“If you are, we live ten minutes away and our front door doesn’t have a lock. Someone can come get it.”

“But Terra gets fussy without her blanket – ”

“They know.”

“ – and River likes to look around when someone’s holding him – ”

“It’s all in the note. Clarke, look at me.” She stops pacing and turns to face him. He’s wearing an amused expression, but his eyes are serious. “It’s going to be okay. The bag’s packed and we left written instructions. We’re leaving early tomorrow so we can do a walk through with Mali.” 

“I’m acting crazy aren’t I?”

He laughs. “I was going to say overly-concerned, but I mostly wish that you’d calm down.”

Clarke pads over to the bed and smiles when River reaches for her. His fingers twist in her hair as she lifts him into her arms. “Is Mommy being silly?” she asks but he giggles and yanks harder. She untangles his fingers while Bellamy picks up their daughter and gets up to join them. He blows a raspberry on Terra’s belly that makes her laugh. “Daddy’s being silly too.” 

Bellamy grins at her and nuzzles Terra’s dark curls. “Feeling better?”

“No, but I will.” 

“Wanna go over the list again?” He’s smirking at her from over Terra’s head. 

“Can we?”

He takes River, cradles two dark-haired, dark-eyed babies, and for a moment Clarke loses her breath. There’s no reason to ever leave when everything she needs is in this room.

 

* * *

 

Clarke resumes her chancellorship. Abby is perfectly capable of running the government, but it’s her job – the people elected Clarke Griffin, not her mother. She has ideas too, things that popped into her head the thirteen weeks she was home with the babies, and she’s eager to share them. She’s eager to _lead_. She just did a poor job anticipating how difficult it would be to live in two separate worlds.

Their morning is a mess. Terra won’t stop crying, River spits up on two different outfits, and they both put up a fight when their parents wind them into their carriers. 

Bellamy is wearing a strange smile when Clarke steps into the sunshine. “Oh god. I have baby vomit on me. This is my last clean shirt!”

He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s nice seeing Chancellor Griffin again. I missed her.”

“Yeah,” Clarke says after a beat. “I missed her too.” 

She loved those months with the twins – the dark times helped her appreciate the good days all the more – but she’s still the girl that brought down the mountain. She misses that aspect of her life, making the rules and running things and being in charge; she loves being a mother but it’s only one part of who she is.

So it’s a surprise when they arrive at daycare and neither of them can cross the courtyard to the front door.

“Let’s start tomorrow,” Clarke whispers. “The Council can make it one more day without me.”

Bellamy nods along. “I’ll take the afternoon off. Kane will have to understand.”

They’re priding themselves on a great plan when Mali comes out to pick up the twins. “All set?” Clarke bursts into tears and Bellamy’s jaw is tense and Mali smiles knowingly. “Okay. I’ll give you a minute.”

“I can’t cry,” Clarke insists even as she blinks back tears. “I’m the goddamn Chancellor!”

Bellamy sighs. “I’m Kane’s second. People actually listen when I tell them not to shoot.”

She buries her face in his shoulder and dries her tears on his shirt. “We can do this, right?”

He wraps an arm around her. “Do we have a choice?”

“At the count of three,” Clarke says. It’s now or never – if they don’t make it through those doors, she’s afraid the twins will still be living at home when they’re thirty. “One, two, three.” They pull away only to clasp hands as they take the first, tentative step to the building.

It might be because she’s the chancellor and he’s a general, but no one mocks them when they finally make it inside, or comments on their white knuckled grip. Mali takes them on a tour of the facility and introduces her assistants Sam and Mae. She shows them where the babies will nap and runs through their day and double-checks Clarke’s note. 

“We’ll see you in three hours for lunch,” Mali reminds them, cradling Terra in her arms. Sam has River propped over one shoulder, his dark eyes already wide as he takes in all the new things.

Clarke nods, bites her lip to keep from crying again. She can’t believe she ever wanted to be anywhere but with her babies. “Love you,” she whispers into Terra’s curls while Bellamy says goodbye to River. He takes her hand again and squeezes.

She makes it to her morning meeting with five minutes to spare, and to the twins' feeding only five minutes late. To her surprise, Bellamy’s there, the babies gumming on his fingers while they wait. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she exclaims as she plops into a chair and reaches for Terra; once she’s situated, River joins too. Bellamy refills her water bottle and burps the babies and does what he can to be supportive. It’s a luxury, having him here, and he won’t be every day, but on this harried afternoon she’s not complaining. 

It’s not until later in the evening when it sinks in, after the babies are bathed and fed and asleep in their cradles and she’s had time to process her long, complicated day. She curls onto her side, waits for Bellamy to wrap her in his arms. “I’m a terrible mom,” she confesses. “I couldn’t handle it when I was home and now I’m away and missing everything. They’re going to crawl without us, walk without us, say their first words without us…” 

The pillow muffles her words, but she knows he hears when he presses a gentle kiss to her bare shoulder. “Would you be happy at home?”

“No,” she admits and it only makes her feel guiltier. Her day was spent debriefing everything that everything that happened in her absence, and she has a headache to show for it, but she loved every minute of it. “You make it look easy.”

He laughs into her hair. “I’ve had more time to adjust. That first day, I stood outside the house for a good ten minutes. I was late for work but every time I tried to lift my foot it felt like it was glued to the ground. I couldn’t bear to leave.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“You were looking Reaperesque back then. I wasn’t going to put more on your plate.

She ignores his comment, focuses on the sentiment behind it. “We’re a team, remember?”

“I’m telling you now.”

There are two options: she could get angry or she could ask his advice; she chooses the latter. “How did you get through it?”

He tightens his arms around her. “When I’m home, I make the time count.”

“Okay,” she says. “I can do that.”

Their routine gets smoother as the days go on. Clarke organizes her schedule ahead of time and sticks to it, cramming all her responsibilities into the workday. She takes a walk with the twins mid-afternoon and is always home by dinner and keeps her tablet closed. She laughs during the babies’ baths and dances with them in her arms and sometimes sits and watch them sleep. She finds time for just Bellamy, hands and mouths and bare skin sliding against the sheets. More than anything else, she makes sure every moment with her family matters.

 

* * *

 

Clarke makes work matter too. She’s mercilessly efficient during meetings and relies heavily on her station chiefs; they seem relieved that she hasn’t usurped their power now that she’s back in office. Art is openly friendly to her and it changes the tone of the Council. After a few weeks, the tension headaches disappear entirely. There are still ten Bruku children living in camp but that’s the military’s problem – she’ll be prepared whenever Decla comes to make peace. 

“You wanted to see me?” Art asks one afternoon. She has office hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays for civilians but sometimes uses them for official business when her morning is too full.

Clarke closes her tablet and ushers him inside. “Thanks for coming.” 

“Of course.” He takes his seat opposite her desk and waits patiently.

“I’ll get right to the point.” She has to feed the twins in thirty minutes so there’s a hard stop to this meeting. “I’m rewriting the constitution.”

“Why?” His forehead crinkles in confusion.

“We cobbled together parts of the Exodus Charter that we liked, but what worked on the Ark doesn’t work down here. We need a new government, one that reflects the society we’re building on the ground. I have a few suggestions, but you have the background. I thought we could do it together.”

Art smiles. “What do you have in mind?”

“Our election system works, but we’ll need to formally separate the military and civilian government. Merit tests for job placement so people aren’t stuck in an assignment because there’s a need or it’s where they were from. Mandatory familial leave and childcare. Delegated roles and responsibilities for each council member. A real penal system.” Art’s smile turns into a grin. “Did I say something funny?”

“That’s more than a few suggestions.”

Clarke smiles sheepishly. “I had a lot of time think about it.” She waits a beat then presses forward, reveals the true reason behind this venture. “I want more for my children – for everyone’s children. Will you do it?”

He reaches across the table and shakes her hand. “I’d be honored.”

Art does a good job. He mines the United States Constitution, but also the Magna Carta, Hammurabi’s Code, and the Twelve Tables. It’s a loose framework of government that allows for amendments and changes dependent on the needs of the people. 

“It’s terrific,” she tells him after previewing the final draft a few weeks later. “We’ll run it by the Council at the next formal session and get it ratified.” Art’s nod is brisk, but he looks like he has more to say. “Is there something else?” 

“I wanted to apologize for how I treated you before.”

Clarke smiles kindly. “It’s okay. I wasn’t the easiest chancellor to work with.”

Art shakes his head. “It’s not that.” He sighs and looks down to his lap. “If I’d met you on the Ark, I would have floated you.” Clarke sits up straighter in her chair. “You knew a secret that could have destroyed our society, and I always chose the greater good. I was ashamed of what I would have done and I took it out on you. I don’t expect your forgiveness, but I though you should know.”

“You’re forgiven,” Clarke says without hesitation. Her life is full enough as is; she doesn’t have room for old grudges. “I’ll tell you a secret too: Bellamy and I hated each other when we first met.” She shrugs. “Now we have twins. Things change.”

“Is it really that easy?”

“It is for me.” She sticks out her hand. “To new beginnings.”

Art exhales. “To new beginnings.”

It’s Bellamy’s day to pick up the twins, so they’re already playing on a blanket when she gets home. They both light up when she walks through the door singing “Mama’s home.” Bellamy kisses her cheek as she kneels before them and scoops River into her arms. She settles him on one thigh and then reaches for Terra, listens to her babies’ musical laughter fill the room. She thinks about her conversation with Art, the fresh start they gave each other, and decides it’s time to do the same for herself. She can’t erase the agony of the twins’ first months, but she can avoid making those mistakes again. 

“Everything okay?” Bellamy asks. He’s dangling a rattle over River’s head, smiling broadly at his son’s futile attempts to grab it. 

“Everything’s just fine.” Clarke rests her cheek against Terra’s soft curls, breathes in lavender shampoo and special baby smells, feels the forgiveness wash over her. She’s sad it took her so long to get this far, but now it’s something she never wants to forget.

 

* * *

 

August lands on them, sticky and sweaty. Clarke has learned to cope with, and even enjoy, winters on the ground, but there are few things worse than a Virginia summer. They make her long for the manufactured, processed air she breathed most of her life. At least she didn’t spend those days perpetually soaked in sweat. The temperature climbs and moisture clings to everything. Bellamy’s hair curls adorably, although the effect on their books and papers is less welcome. Raven abandons the refrigeration project to focus on solar-powered fans, but Clarke and Bellamy’s mostly moves damp air through their already sweltering cabin. 

The twins aren’t handling it well either. They’re hot and clammy and both develop terrible cases of diaper rash. “It’s the weather,” Abby had said when a worried Bellamy came to the med-bay with two crying four-month-olds. “The humidity is exacerbating whatever moisture’s already in their diapers.” She’d given him a packet of oatmeal and bathing instructions, but it provides minimal relief. Clarke wants something she can put on their skin between baths, a balm or a gel, and it means leaving camp. They’re still technically at war so only farm hands working the fields are allowed outside, but Clarke knows where a patch of aloe vera grows and she needs that plant. Bellamy won’t be thrilled with her venturing beyond the walls, but since it’s for their children, she thinks he’d make an exception. He’s busy though, training troops should the Ice Clans ever attack, so Clarke asks the next best choice: her pseudo-brother-in-law.

Lincoln has never fully recovered from his last bout with “the red,” even after his and Bellamy’s trip to the cottage, and he’s retired from the army, preferring to work with new recruits instead. It keeps him in camp, away from potential triggers, and gives him a purpose, a reason to exist in this world – neither Grounder or Sky People have much use for people who don’t contribute. 

Clarke loves watching the world through her children’s eyes, how they react to the sounds and colors around them, and she contemplates taking the twins. They’re only going a hundred yards or so beyond the camp’s walls, but she’d never forgive herself if anything happened to her babies; she doesn’t think Bellamy would forgive her either and that’s a risk she won’t take. 

She leaves them at daycare and walks the short distance with Lincoln in silence. He has a knife at his belt and a rifle strapped to his back; his hair has grown out but his Grounder tattoos peek from beneath his shirtsleeve and curl across his cheek; his steps are light but his eyes are haunted. He’s strangely at ease in both worlds, a trick he no doubt learned from Octavia, and Clarke longs to know his secret. She’s been on the ground almost four years and has yet to fully shake the person she was on the Ark.

The plants are easy to spot, out of place in the mid-Atlantic region of the former United States, but Clarke doesn’t question it. She’s seen two-headed deer and glowing butterflies. The Cataclysm is long over but its legacy will never fully fade. She cuts the plants with her knife and tucks them into her pack, then follows Lincoln to a flowing stream to refill their water bottles.

They sit together on the bank, watching the river flow and a family of (one-headed) deer stop for a drink. It would be easy hunting but neither of them is in the mood. Clarke sees these things differently now. She watches the doe nuzzle her fawn while the buck stands guard. They’re not so different, her and the doe; they both have a man and babies that they love.

“Thank you for coming,” she says to Lincoln when the deer disappear into the forest. 

He nods. “It’s good to get out of camp.”

Clarke takes a sip of water. “How are you liking your new role?”

Lincoln stares at the rushing water. “It’s good to be useful.”

“I felt the same way when I was on bed rest, like a deadweight hanging around Bellamy’s neck. I couldn’t do anything but let people wait on me.”

“The Blakes are kind that way.” Lincoln shares a rare smile. “Octavia is very good to me.”

“She loves you.”

He draws his legs to his chest and rests his chin on his knees. “It’s more than I deserve.” 

Clarke contemplates laying a comforting hand on his arm or shoulder, but thinks better of it. He’s no longer a Reaper, but often reacts like a skittish animal. “It’s not your fault.”

“The world’s been turning me into a monster for as long as I can remember. The Mountain Men finally succeeded.” 

“I don’t believe that,” Clarke says softly. “I’m not a monster. I did terrible things, but I’m not a monster.” She doesn’t elaborate, but Lincoln had been instrumental in healing the rift between her and Octavia after the missile; he knows well the nature of her crimes. She thinks of her babies, how they look at her with pure love and trust in their eyes. A monster wouldn’t have been gifted with something so beautiful. “The Mountain Men – they’re the monsters. It’s why we wiped them from the earth.”

Lincoln continues to stare at the stream. An eagle flies overhead, its piercing scream the only sound around them. “Octavia says I can’t blame myself for things the red made me do. She says she loves me for who I am rather than what I did.”

Clarke watches the eagle soar, takes in the majestic spread of its wings and the ease with which it cuts through the sky. Her own answer isn’t so simple. “Before I met Bellamy, I don’t know if would have agreed, but in my heart, I know what kind of person he is. And now that I have River and Terra…I like to think I’ll raise them well, to make good choices, be good people, but…they could drain people of their blood and marrow and I’d love them anyway. I don’t think there’s anything they could do that would stop me from loving them.”

“Your children won’t be Mountain Men. Reapers, maybe, but never Mountain Men.” Lincoln’s smiling again and it feels as warm as the sun shining down around them.

Clarke laughs with him. “I hope not. We’re having enough trouble with diaper rash.” 

“We should get back then.” Lincoln stands and holds out a hand to help her to her feet. 

“Would you like to meet the twins?” Octavia’s seen her niece and nephew many times but she’s always come alone. Clarke had wondered if it was by choice, and this conversation confirms her theory. She thinks it’s time for a change.

Lincoln pauses in strapping his pack across his back. He looks at her and that smile extends all the way to his eyes. “I’d like that very much.”

The trek back to camp is quiet, as is the response when Clarke walks into the daycare with an enormous Grounder at her shoulder. Sam and Mae are polite when Clarke introduces him as her brother-in-law, and laugh kindly when he struggles to get Terra into her carrier. In the end, he holds his niece in his arms while she stares up at him with enormous brown eyes. 

“This is River,” Clarke says as she lays her son on his belly. She and Lincoln are sitting on either sides of the babies’ play blanket in the cabin, and he reaches out to brush dark curls from River’s brow. “You already met Terra.” Both babies watch him curiously. They’re used to random strangers, but something about Lincoln is fascinating to them. “They like you,” Clarke adds.

Lincoln lets River grip his finger, smiles again as the baby giggles in response. Terra swipes at him too and misses, and Lincoln’s smile only gets wider. Clarke thinks he’s smiled more today than in all the years she’s known him. “Why did you call me your brother-in-law?” 

“Because you are. You’re the man Octavia’s chosen to spend her life with – if she’s my sister, that makes you my brother.”

His expression is unreadable as Terra reaches for him again. He picks her up this time and helps her balance against his chest so she can explore his face with her hands. Clarke’s seen Bellamy with the babies countless times, but Lincoln is even bigger and broader, and Terra looks impossibly tiny next to him. “I’d like that.” Terra swats at his chin, mesmerized by his unshaven cheeks. Her father keeps his face smooth, so the stubble is new for her.

Clarke dangles a toy in front of River. “When you and Octavia have a baby, our kids will be cousins.” 

“We are not having children.” Lincoln’s tone is flat, but his hands tighten just the slightest bit around Terra’s waist. Not enough to hurt her, but enough for her mother to notice.

“I know it’s early, but – ”

“Octavia is Indra’s second and I…I am a slave to the red,” he interrupts. “It is for the best.” He doesn’t sound happy about the decision, but resigned to his fate; Clarke knows how difficult it must be for them. Babies are sacred to his people, but they lack the resources to deal with his disease. It’s one of the most selfless things she’s ever seen. 

“I think it’s very brave.” She gives up on tummy time and pulls River into her arms. “All we want is what’s best for our children and sometimes that means not having them. There’s always time to change your mind, but if not, Uncle Lincoln is always welcome here.”

“You have come a long way, Clarke kom Skaikru,” he says. “When we met, I never thought we would be friends, but now we are more. We are noma.” _Family_.

“We’re so lucky to have you.” It’s true. Lincoln is stoic and strange, but wise and kind. Loyal. All the things she wants her babies to have in their lives, to help shape the people she knows they can be.

 

* * *

 

The twins are six-months-old when Decla arrives at Lexa’s camp with a proposal for peace. She wants her village’s children back and is willing to sacrifice her own pride to reclaim them. From the relayed message, Lexa accepts the offer at face value; even the great commander is sick of war. Her rider arrives a few days later with a summons to Ton DC to work out the final terms and celebrate the successful end of another war.

It makes Clarke’s blood run cold. 

She’s managed to avoid the village since the war ended, but Lexa’s left her with no choice – if she wants to be a part of the peace process, she must make the trip.

“We have to go,” she tells Bellamy. It’s mid-October and the summer heat has faded to chilly fall. It’s Clarke’s favorite time of year, when the leaves turn and the lush greens of spring and summer burst into the red and orange flames of autumn. The twins are doing better too, enjoying the cool air on their cheeks and bright colors as far as the eyes can see. They’re in the bath with their parents, splashing happily in the warm water. 

Bellamy wipes bubbles from River’s forehead before the soap stings his eyes. “You knew the day would come.”

Clarke leans back so her head rests against the tub’s edge. It makes her shiver just from thinking about it, all the people she sacrificed to save Bellamy. She knows she had little choice in the matter, but she also remembers how she’d felt when Finn took eighteen lives in her name. She still can’t believe she did the same thing to someone else. “I thought I’d have more time.”

“It’s been three years, Clarke.” He takes Terra from her, cradles two slippery babies in his arms. “You told me once that I couldn’t run, that I had to face it. It’s your turn.”

She remembers that night, stars in their eyes and moonlight in their hair and the smell of death lingering in the air. Dax had tried to kill her and Bellamy had saved her, and in turn, she’d saved him. She’d told him that she needed him, that their people needed him, but this time they need her. “You’ll be there, right?”

Bellamy balances two slippery babies in his lap, tries to keep Terra from climbing up his chest while River attempts to slide out from under his arm. “Team work, Princess,” he reminds her, catches River right before he goes under. 

“Oh baby,” she croons and reaches for her son, lets him cry his terror into her shoulder. Across the tub, Bellamy holds Terra tightly, eyes fixed on his bawling son, and Clarke smiles, lets him know that it’s okay. He saved their son before it was too late. She feels like she can face her demons because he’ll do the same for her.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy holds her hand as they approach Ton DC. Clarke’s fingers are cold and clammy, but he holds on tight. The twins gurgle in their carriers. They weren’t huge fans of horseback riding and are glad to be back to normal modes transportation. Abby will watch them during the actual meeting, but Clarke wanted them with her when they walked through the village gates. The memories surround her – screaming people, bodies on fire, grief clinging to the air – and she tugs River closer with her free arm. Her babies remind her of how far she’s come since that terrible night.

Echo greets them outside Lexa’s tent. She’s wearing her usual expressionless mask until she sees the twins peeking out from their cloth slings, and her entire face lights up. “They’re beautiful,” she says, mostly to Bellamy, but her smile is genuine when she meets Clarke’s eyes. “Congratulations.”

Clarke’s smile is just as real. “Thank you.” 

“The Commander waits for you,” Echo says and gestures to the tent. 

“We’ll meet you inside,” Bellamy replies and runs a hand over Terra’s curls. Echo nods her assent and disappears into Lexa’s quarters. “You ready?” he asks Clarke.

She’s still clinging to his hand and tightens their entwined fingers in response. “As I’ll ever be.” She lets him go and unwinds River from his carrier and motions for Abby to come get the babies. 

“Good luck,” Abby says and drops a kiss on her daughter’s cheek. She takes River and waits while Bellamy unwraps Terra. “I’ll watch out for them. You take care of her.”

Bellamy smiles as he hands Terra to her grandmother. “Always do.” He grasps Clarke’s hand again. “Time’s up.”

She takes a deep breath and follows him into the abyss.

 

* * *

 

It’s easier than it has any right to be. Clarke hasn’t been in Lexa’s tent for many years, but it feels comfortable – familiar – as she takes her place between Bellamy and Kane in the circle. She recognizes Lexa’s shawl hanging from one hook, still woven with starlight, and her sword on another. She fought with Lexa in this tent, kissed her too, and realized that she’d given her heart to another. 

Lexa’s face is as impassive as always and silence fills the room when she raises her hand. Once, Clarke could look into Lexa’s eyes and read her thoughts, but those days are over. It’s less about Bellamy and more about differing leadership styles – Clarke’s no longer willing to do whatever’s necessary to win. She misses their friendship but not the person it made her be.

Decla rises. Her hands are bound, but she wears a determined expression as she faces the group. “We want our children back. What are your demands?”

There are now fifteen Bruku children living among the Trigedakru and while they’re well cared for, Clarke can imagine how desperately they want to go home. She knows her own babies would long to be back in her arms. 

Lexa smiles dangerously and it makes Clarke’s stomach clench. She has no interest in punishing the loser of this war. “Tribute,” Lexa says. “You will pay us tribute.”

Decla swallows hard. “What do you want?”

The terms are harsh. One-tenth of all harvests and hunts, kegs of wine and beer, a Brokru healer, arrows, spears, and swords. Decla agrees to each requirement with a slight nod of her head. Then Lexa issues the deciding blow. “Two Brukru _goufas_ will remain as hostages. If you break our deal, they lose their heads.” Lexa waits patiently while Decla struggles with her decision. 

Clarke knows Decla will give in, to end the fighting and protect the bulk of her people, but it makes Clarke’s heart hurt to think of the mothers whose children will be left behind. She doesn’t know how she’d live knowing the twins were alive but beyond her reach. 

“Done,” Decla says softly. Her expression remains neutral but her eyes are hard. Her niece is one of the captured children and will most likely be chosen to remain with the Trigedakru.

Clarke lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She’s made peace with the Ice Clans. All that’s left is making peace with herself.

 

* * *

 

“I want one,” Raven says later that night. A small contingent of Sky People were invited to the peace conference, including their chief mechanic, and she’s making funny faces at Terra during the after party. 

“Really?” Clarke asks, presses a gentle hand to Terra’s shoulder before she tips over. The twins can sit up on their own, but their balance is finicky and tonight they’re doing a good job of impersonating tiny drunk people. River’s already on his back, kicking his feet and giggling as Monty tickles his belly.

Raven smiles shyly. “Not now, but soon.” She sticks out her tongue at Terra. 

Clarke stares at her incredulously. “Are you looking forward to a breakdown?” 

“Do you regret it?” Raven’s looking at her with absolute seriousness.

“Never.” She smiles as her daughter tries to grasp the end of Raven’s ponytail, sees Bellamy in the stubborn curve of her chin and the high spread of her cheekbones, and knows she’d do it all over again, every day, if it meant having Terra and River in her life. “I’ll be there to help,” Clarke promises.

“I’m counting on it.” 

Terra tips over and bursts into tears and Raven gathers her close, crooning words of comfort into her dark curls. Clarke thinks about intervening, but decides against it. Her daughter is in good hands even if they don’t belong to either of her parents, and she realizes this is it, the legacy she’s leaving for her children. It’s not the ground or real air, or even the wars she fights so hard to end. It’s Raven’s gadgets and Octavia’s sword, Abby’s devotion and Lincoln’s loyalty. It’s Monty’s laughter and Miller’s dry humor and Jasper’s corny jokes. It’s the life she and Bellamy can give them in their little cabin, the firm understanding that they will always be safe and accepted and loved.

 _Love_ , she thinks later that night as she slides into the cradle of Bellamy’s arms and laughs with her friends around the fire. It’s the greatest, and only, gift her babies really need.


	12. Epilogue

 

* * *

 

**_Three Years Later_ **

“Mama, osir ste lok-op ye?” _Are we there yet?_

Clarke catches Bellamy’s eye from across the path; it’s the third time Terra’s asked that question in as many minutes.

“Not yet, Terr-bear,” Bellamy responds and tugs on one of her dark braids. 

“How long?” Terra switches to English and puts her hands on her hips in a familiar pose that’s all Blake.

Bellamy smiles and hands her a sandwich. “Eat.”

She huffs, but finds a seat on the picnic blanket and digs into her lunch. Clarke ducks her head to hide her grin and helps River unwrap his own food. They eat in silence, peanut butter and honey sandwiches that don’t spoil while on the road, and pass bottles of water around the circle. They’re heading to the cottage for a few days and about halfway there – Clarke can’t wait to sleep under the stars that night. 

Bellamy gets up to check on the horses and Terra follows his movements with identical dark eyes. Usually, Clarke and Bellamy carry their own gear, but with four packs and two small people with short legs, it makes sense to ride. It’s their first year bringing the twins and Clarke’s both excited to share such a special place with her children, and disappointed about the extra company. Last winter, they’d left two toddlers with Abby and Kane and disappeared for three days. Clarke had missed her babies something fierce, but reveled in the alone time with Bellamy. It hadn’t just been the hours spent naked beneath the furs, but the quiet moments between them: the silent tread of their boots in the snow and cool wind in their lungs and the way the air stood so still in the winter sunshine. She’ll miss the easy silence between them those days and nights in the woods.

It’s summer now and the air is thick with humidity, but Clarke likes the hum of excitement that surrounds them. The twins have been hearing about the cottage their entire lives and can’t wait to see it for themselves. She hopes they won’t be disappointed.

Terra gasps and drops the crusts from her sandwich. A streak of luminescent blue flutters by, dips twice before making for the open meadow. “Mama!” she exclaims and points at the minute movements of the butterfly’s wings. With her grounder braids and astonished expression, she’s a miniature-version of her aunt. 

“Take Griffin with you,” Clarke tells her, watches as her daughter races after the butterfly. Griffin lopes behind, eyes fixed determinedly on his mistress. He’d been a present from Octavia for the twins’ first birthday, the last thing Clarke or Bellamy needed, but neither of them could resist his sweet little face. He’s considerably bigger now, part Labrador retriever and part something Clarke suspects is a wolf, and there is nothing he loves more than River and Terra Blake. Bellamy keeps an eye on his daughter traipsing through the meadow, but they both feel safe knowing Griffin has her back. 

River tugs on Clarke’s arm. “Mama? Do you think Skye will like this?” He’s holding a reddish rock in one hand, studying her with wide, worried eyes. It never fails to amaze her, that her children came from the same womb and turned out so different, her brave, bold girl and serious, sensitive boy. River curls into her side and waits patiently for her response.

“I think she’ll love it,” Clarke responds, heart catching in her chest as her son smiles up at her with the blinding, brilliant smile he inherited from his father. “Go put it in your pack.”

Bellamy ruffles his hair as River runs by. “I think someone has a crush.”

Clarke shrugs and gestures at Terra to come back. “It’s sweet.” Skye is Raven’s daughter, three-months-old with her mom’s dark hair and dad’s blue eyes, and the love of River’s life. From the moment he met her, crinkled and crying, he’s wanted nothing more than watch over her. Wick has already made comments about his intentions, but Clarke ignores him. He would be so lucky to have a Blake love his daughter.

Bellamy comes over to stand next to her. “Wick knows I can take him with my eyes closed, right?” 

Clarke rolls her eyes and rests her head on his shoulder; neither Blake twin is dating anytime soon. “They’re three.” 

“Just saying.” 

Clarke watches River carefully wrap the rock in a t-shirt and tuck it into his pack. He looks so proud, so much like a little man, that it makes her heart clench again. “They’re growing up so fast.”

“I’m glad we brought them this year.”

“Me too.” The cottage is where their parents fell in love, bared their souls, made a commitment – Clarke wants to see them to see the place where it all began. 

Terra pulls at Bellamy’s hand to get his attention. “Nontu, osir ste kamp ruan trigeda?” _Dad, are we going to the woods now?_

“Osir ste ga.” _Let’s go._

It’s a complicated process getting everyone on the horses, but the packs and people are finally loaded, and their little group follows a path into the forest. Up ahead, Clarke can hear Terra talking to Bellamy in Trigedasleng, asking question after question about everything she sees. River settles against Clarke’s chest and watches his surroundings with a stoic gaze that reminds her of Lincoln. His eyes though, they’re all Griffin, a deep blue-green that Clarke used to see in the mirror back on the Ark. They’re the only trait of hers that either child inherited. 

She’d complained about it to her mom once, lamented how much Blake ran in her children’s veins and how little Griffin she’d given them. Abby had laughed and patted her daughter’s cheek. “I used to say the same about you.”

Clarke had blinked back at her. “I’m just like you.”

“You didn’t used to be.” Abby’s voice was tense and her face was drawn. “Before…before you came to the ground, I only ever saw your dad.” She swallowed hard, remembering the girl her daughter was in the sky. “I’m sorry for what it took to see me in you.” Clarke had seen it too, blood and war and a missile raining death on Ton DC. She prays her children are never faced with the same choices.

Terra is a child of the earth and worships the ground Octavia walks on. She wants nothing more than to follow her aunt into battle, to stand at her side as a second, and it makes Clarke’s heart skip a beat just from thinking about it. “She will make a strong commander,” Lexa had said when she’d met Terra. “It’s rare for such skills to pass from mother to child.” Clarke had smiled politely and ignored the shiver that worked its way down her spine. She knows well that she can’t control her daughter’s fate, but hopes she chooses another path. 

River is her child of the sky, a dreamer that loses himself in Bellamy’s stories and Abby’s memories. He loves hearing about his grandpa, Jake the Great, or the adventures of Odin and Thor, or the reign of Caesar Augustus. His interests make it easier for Clarke to breathe. She might lose him to medicine or the law, but she knows it won’t be by an enemy’s sword. It gives her a bit of comfort, that he might look like Bellamy, but have something of her in his disposition. She watches his face as they arrive at the cottage, sees the wonder washing over his face, and remembers the morning she stepped off a dropship and into the sunshine for the first time. She doesn’t love him more, this child in which she can see bits of herself, but she understands him better. It’s a good lesson to learn, another way to avoid the mistakes of her past. It took years to rebuild her relationship with Abby – she won’t lose any time with Terra.

They arrive in late afternoon, and Clarke unpacks the gear while Bellamy takes the children to the river to catch dinner. She lets him clean and fry the fish too. She has many talents, and few weaknesses, but filleting fish tops the latter list. Instead, she lies in the grass, using Griffin as a pillow, and lets the summer breeze brush over her.

Clarke signed a new trade pact with Luna the winter after the twins were born and salt is no longer a precious commodity. Monty’s blossomed under the new work policies, and merged his engineering and agro skills to develop innovative farming techniques. They grow their own herbs and spices now, and Bellamy’s seasoned the fish with salt, pepper, and lemon juice. It’s delicious. She laughs as River and Terra lick their fingers to show their appreciation, a Grounder tradition they learned from Octavia, but honor their mother’s request to wash their hands before going to play. 

Later, when the dishes have been washed and the food packed away, Clarke and Bellamy settle on the front porch to watch the twins and Griffin run across the lawn. Their arms bump, matching tattoos melding together where their shoulders touch. They got them a year ago, not long after they renewed their vows, a leafy tree with a lazy stream twining around its roots. Half the tattoo is inked into Bellamy’s skin and half into Clarke’s, and when they fuse, earth and water, their family is complete. 

Clarke still has mixed feelings about marriage – on the ground they’re more often about sealing alliances than love matches – but she wanted the world to know her dedication to her family.

They had a ceremony a few months after the twins’ second birthday, a celebration that was supposed to be a small gathering of family and friends, but illustrated how blurred the lines had become. Friends were family and acquaintances were friends and before they knew it, half the camp was standing at in a field at dusk to watch their chancellor and general commit their lives to each other.

Clarke had let Octavia dress her in white and put a crown of daisies in her hair; Bellamy wore a dark suit she hoped was rescued from a bunker rather than Mount Weather. They’d held the twins in their arms, clad in similar shades of white and black, and recited the vows they’d written together. There were no promises to uphold the laws of the Ark or unite people in peace, but simple pledges of love and devotion. It was all about them and their family, just the way they wanted it. 

“I pledge to honor and defend you and yours above all others. To be your comfort and your sanctuary,” Bellamy had said, blinking furiously to fight back tears.

“To share in blessings and burdens. To be your advocate and your champion. To be your family,” Clarke had added tearfully. Her voice was rough with emotion and her hand shook slightly as she cupped Bellamy’s cheek. 

“To be your family,” Bellamy had whispered and given up the fight with his tears. It wasn’t the most vulnerable that Clarke had seen him, but it was a rare show of emotion to the rest of the camp, and a collectives sigh had drifted through the field as he kissed her over their babies’ heads. 

After, they’d danced in the field under the stars, like the pagans in Bellamy’s stories, and drank peach wine Monty had made for the occasion. Maya, Harper’s daughter, had said her first words and Kane had waltzed with Abby in the moonlight and Clarke had cried happy tears that her children didn’t understand, didn’t know yet what it was like to live six years on the ground and have so much love in their lives.

That love gives her strength – courage – to live her life on her own terms. “I’m not running for reelection.”

“Oh yeah?” Bellamy turns so he can meet her eyes. His are warm and familiar in the rapidly darkening night. “Why not?”

She has three years left in her second term and its enough. She’s given her time, her youth, her _soul_ to her people – it’s time she gets a future of her own. “I didn’t want to lead,” she says softly. “I’m good at it and people needed me, but I wouldn’t choose it for myself.”

Bellamy laughs. “Then they’ll definitely name the camp after you.”

Clarke groans. “Arkadia needs to win.” Their little camp is no longer a ragtag cluster of tents and shacks, but a growing, thriving village. The Council voted for a new name to reflect its changing status. “Clarkesville” is currently in second place, and while it’s a great honor, she doesn’t want a permanent reminder of the things she did for it.

“Regardless, what will you do with your freedom?” His expression is sympathetic even if he doesn’t fully understand. He loves his job, loves learning from Kane and working with new recruits, loves keeping their people safe. He’s content with his choice and doesn’t want anything else. Clarke wants more. She wants to help her people without hating herself.

“I think I’ll start training with my mom again. I was going to be a doctor in the old days. I’m ready to try again.”

Bellamy smiles. “I remember that girl. When we met, she yelled at me before I could even say hello.”

She swats at him lightly. “You were such an ass back then. Still are.”

He kisses her, hot and hard, and smiles against her mouth. “You love it.”

“I love you.” She opens her mouth and deepens the kiss. They’re both breathing hard when they break apart, but if they don’t stop, they really might scar their children for life.

“I forgot to tell you,” Bellamy says as Clarke settles against his chest. “Murphy says the prophet’s on his way back. He doesn’t have proof but swears he can sense Jaha’s weirdness.” He looks pained. “I believe him.”

Clarke sighs heavily. “Think he’ll try to convert us again?”

“Does he do anything else?” Clarke sighs again and Bellamy laughs. “This too shall pass.”

“Always does.”

Bellamy’s arms tighten around her middle so she falls into the strong, steady weight of him. “We’ll figure it out later?”

“Later,” she agrees and clasps his hand, so the B&C engraved in their thumbs blend together, and watches their children chase fireflies in the twilight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it folks! Thanks for the reviews, comments, and feedback for this story. It’s the longest fanfic that I’ve written (twelve chapters!) and I’m really proud of how it turned out. And because I am a huge dork, the vows are cribbed from “The Originals”. I’m usually on the fence about my feelings for that show, but I adored the most recent episode and all its discussions of family. Thank you again. Enjoy.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my head since the summer, but I’ve just found a way to put it into words. My life is about to get back to normal (I’ve had a herniated disk that’s _finally_ on the mend), which is great for me because I can get back to my life, but bad for my fic writing because when I’m mobile, I like to get out of my house. So figure weekly updates as we move forward. But enough about me. I love babyfic! as a catalyst for exploring larger changes in characters, and this fic will focus on Clarke and Bellamy dealing with the consequences of an unplanned pregnancy. Keep in mind, they’re an established couple, so the pregnancy will not bring them together, but rather bring them closer and force them to reevaluate some of the things about their lives and choices. Title courtesy of Bruce Springsteen. Enjoy.


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